From Darkness
by Otex
Summary: Castiel awakes alone, handcuffed to a pipe in the dark, with no powers and little memory. Who are these captors? How did he get there? And most importantly, where is Dean? Everybody's favorite angel of the Lord grapples with these questions, while trying to cope with the onslaught of confusing pain that captivity and being human bring. Destiel. Angst galore.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Hello lovelies... look at me acting like I know any of you. But if you're here you probably ship Destiel, and therefor are lovely. This is my first fic. It's going to have a lot of Cas!Angst, and Destiel... but I love Sammy too, even if he's not part of my otp, so no Sam hate here. I can write you all some pretty feel-licious stuff, but I'm not quite sure where I'm going with this story yet, so if I don't get any reviews I'm probably going to hit a dead end. That's why you should leave a review, or at least a follow, so I know someone is out there... also you will win my unyielding love and passion. Seriously, leave a suggestion and I'll probably find a way to write it in! This story is fresh and impressionable as a newborn babe, as open as a harlot's legs... too vivid? Well. Enjoy the story. :3

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Castiel was first aware that he felt cold. Very cold. And empty. It was an unpleasant sensation, one that prompted a slight trembling of his body.

Secondly, came the awareness that he felt... he _felt._ And not in the detached, angelic way. Everything was raw, amplified, from the throbbing in his head to the chill of the metal touching his wrists.

He moved said wrists, but to no affect. They were handcuffed to the pipe he was slumped against. He pulled insistently, wielding similar results.

Odd.

Mustering all of his strength, Castiel yanked against the manacles.

The full strength of an angel was enough to annihilate millions, and sink landmasses back into the ocean.

The metal around his wrists hadn't seemed to be informed of this. It did not budge. It did, however, grace him with a pain from where it had began to cut into his flesh.

And now there was yet another sensation. It began with a sharp curling in his stomach and then he could hear his heartbeat accelerate twofold, adrenaline pumping rapidly. _Fear. My body is afraid. _He thought, and subsequently realized that this was indeed _his _body. Jimmy Novak's soul was gone. Within their shackles, his hands began to tremble.

_No. I am afraid. _He blinked, looking around, but could see nothing through the darkness. Darkness. This was unfamiliar. He knew what it was of course, in both a physical and metaphorical sense, but as angel it had never inhibited his vision. The dark was like a black, stifling blanket now, and some unruly part of his mind fed his memories from a recent ice age. There had been great pits of tar, which would catch unsuspecting animals and stifle them as they struggled.

He reached for the bond with the Host, trying to call on his brothers for answers (how had he gotten here? where was the soul of Jimmy Novak?), but was greeted by only the strange emptiness that had initially filtered into his awareness. The connection with heaven was broken, he realized. He was alone.

For the first time in his existence, Castiel felt terror. The simple fear was nothing in comparison. It bloomed in his chest like weeds, and spread like poison. He thrashed involuntarily, causing another twinge in his wrists, before struggling to regain control. All of this was new. He didn't know how to cope, how to regulate these feelings that only grew stronger as he took in his situation.

_I am alienated from heaven. I am captive in a place without light. My powers are certainly diminished, and Jimmy's soul is not present in his body. Or rather, my body. I have no memory of arriving here, and I... I'm cold... _Castiel's progression of steady thoughts crumbled as another wave of panic crashed through him. He once again began to struggle against his restraints, the pain only growing as he did.

For two hours he tugged, psychical action the only means he had discovered to quell the fear and crushing emptiness of being cut off from the host. Sensations were a significantly more affective distraction now than they had been. Everything was sharp and hard to ignore, and he embraced it- rather than consider the more worrying internal distress.

Fatigue and pain finally stopped his struggling, making him drift back into his mental assessment of his situation, and leaving him alone with his emptiness. He couldn't bear it, finding another solution in daydreams. He thought of millenniums past, of wars and fallen emperors. He thought of the small things, of random observations he'd made and people he'd watched in his many years on Earth. He thought of God, of light, of his deep but recently wavered love for his brothers and Father. He thought of Sam and Dean Winchester. The brothers who had taught him of humanity, and the meaning of free will. He thought of Dean in particular, who's soul had shone so brightly even in the flames of perdition. Even marred, streaked black with the blood of those he'd tortured, it had utterly bedazzled Castiel. That a human could have so much good, so much spirit and believe he deserved damnation. He wondered at it, as he wondered constantly at the Winchester brothers. Their sometimes infuriating stubbornness, their passion for life, and the extremes they endured for what they cared for. Sam, throwing himself into the Pit to save a world that thought him a criminal. And Dean, selling his soul for his brother with nothing but a smile on his face. Yes, thinking of the older Winchester seemed to be a wise distraction. His wrists hurt less, and his chest filled with a warm feeling- not enough to drive away the cold and the lonesomeness, but perhaps to forget, if just for a moment.

Castiel lost track of time, sitting for undetermined hours in the dark as his body grew sore without movement. The thoughts of Dean could only fuel him for so long, and eventually he fell back into his battle with the cuffs, perhaps with less vigor. He had little to no hope of escape besides from what he was beginning to think of as 'the hole'- the lack of his brothers- which was so profound, it felt like a psychical and painful presence on it's own.

He had lapsed into an idle mix between his two refuges, pulling half-heartedly on the manacles while musing on Dean's tendency to lie about his pornography-viewing habits, something Castiel had never fully understand. Suddenly, the sound of footsteps interrupted his thoughts. He tensed. They got louder and closer, heavy and confident in their pacing.

The angel- or what remained of an angel- thought once more of prehistoric animals, trapped to die in oozing tar.

And then a door opened, flooding his view with light.

_A/N: Short chapter, I know, but don't worry, this is just me testing the waters. If you liked it at all, I'd really like to know, even just follow or leave a little + or - sign to tell me if it was good or bad. You could probably sway the entire course of this story with a short suggestion at this point. Thanks for reading! :) _


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Wow, I actually continued this, thanks to the two lovelies that reviewed. I have much more of an idea of where this story is going. It's going to be an alternate version of season six. Some heavy whump coming up as well as DEAN! Hooray! *crickets chirping* I feel like I'm talking to myself. Sam is also going to be in this story, but later, and my plans for him are pretty nasty right now. Anyways for those of you waiting for Cas and Dean to be 'on screen' together (this includes me), hang in there, he's coming.

Asmodeus watched the figure before him blink rapidly as his eyes adjusted to the light. He was smaller than the demon had imagined. Perhaps his hunched position and baggy trench-coat lent to this assessment.

One elegant and leather-gloved finger flicked a switch, and with a small buzz the room was illuminated completely. It was a small space, empty besides a flicking fluorescent lightbulb. The walls were decorated with an exposed pipe and the curling remains of what might once of been paint. The cuffed man screwed his eyes shut against the further brightness, but otherwise maintained a fairly stoic expression, sitting unflinching on the floor.

"Sorry to have kept you waiting, love." Asmodeus apologized, tone soft and deceptively friendly. It was a nice voice, a seductive voice, one that he had gone through many vessels searching for. The captive did not respond. His eyes, now open, stared unblinkingly at the floor.

"I had an appointment, and well, you know how demanding people are these days. It's all business, all the time." Continued the demon with a pout, leaning forward and cupping the other's chin in his hand, tilting it upwards. "But I... I prefer to have a little fun. There's just not enough happiness in this world to waste. Don't you agree, Castiel?"

Castiel met the demon's eyes with a steady, passive gaze, still not uttering a word. But Asmodeus knew this act inside out. He knew how to look through a person' s mask and savor the fear, the confusion found there. Knew just the right pressure it took to pry it out into the open along with a myriad of screams and cries. Oh yes, he could see that confusion now, buried, but not as deep as the fear. The fear would be hard to unearth. But he'd get there.

He let his hand drop. "I see you appreciate silence. That's alright. Silence is one of the finer things in life, after all." He remarked sympathetically, drawing a key from his pocket and unlocking the handcuffs, noting the bloody lines where they had rested. "You struggled until you hurt yourself. I wonder why that is? Certainly you are no stranger to captivity."

The brunette moved his hands to his front, rubbing at the damaged wrists.

"Anyways, get up. I can't stand to spend time in these conditions." Asmodeus turned his attention to the filthy coating on the wall, picking absently at a curl of paint. "What color do you fancy this was supposed to be? Rouge? Green? There's really no telling at this point. I believe this room was a cabinet for canned foods when I moved into this house, but I find it's good for-"

_Slam. _The demon found his face and one arm suddenly shoved into the same wall he'd been examining, his other bent behind his back and held there by a trembling hand. "Hmm, yes, definitely rouge." He decided.

"Who are you? Why am I here?" Demanded a voice, hoarse from disuse.

The demon jerked his head back, knocking it into Castiel's face with a sharp but casual movement, using his free arm to send the man thudding to the ground. He fell with a short groan. His eyes had confusion and more visible fear in them. Evidently he had not come to terms with his pitiful, human amount of power yet.

Asmodeus laughed. "Look at you. Using your words and everything! I'm so proud." He knelt down so that he was at eye-level with the heaving man, and the spark of mirth disappeared from his eyes, leaving cold and stony marbles behind. "Don't ever try to overpower me again. Or I will make you suffer in ways you can't comprehend." His voice had the warmth of a hailstorm.

To his credit, Castiel didn't flinch.

"Now come dear, we've negotiations to make. The sooner the better, for both of us." And just like that the cold tone had vanished, replaced with that silky friendliness.

The other seemed lost in indecision for a moment, staring broodingly at the ground. In the end, he picked himself up and chose compliance. They all did. He was unsteady on his feet, dazed but otherwise blank as he was led through a narrow hallway of similar disrepair. Up wooden rickety steps and into a hall of much grander design they went. Asmodeus had a lot of pride, and even more style. His dwelling reflected that, a mansion from the late 19th century, decorated and glorified with an attitude of sheer opulence unbeknownst to all but the most rich and vain. But to him it was not about money. It was about the power. Everything was.

The fact that his prisoner did not so much as bat an eyelash as they passed ancient tapestries and cascading chandeliers, masterful portraits and potted plants taller than an elephant, was somewhat disappointing. But it was to be expected. As an angel he'd had probably seen every spectacular thing to occur since long before the creation of earth, and much as he tried, even Asmodeus could not top the birth of a supernova.

Castiel was lead through several turns, always walking in front of the demon so he could pull no surprises, until the later opened a door and they entered. It was furnished lavishly as the rest of the house, with two pin-cushioned red couches and a coffee table in the center of the room. Curtains were carefully covering the large bay window.

"Please, take a seat."

The human obliged after another hesitant pause, sitting awkwardly down on one of the camelbacks, back rigid.

"Relax, love, take a caramel." Coaxed the demon as he sprawled out on the other couch, gesturing to a glass candy bowl. He was sure now that he could see a slight tremor in the man's body, and wondered about it.

Castiel only stared at him.

"You have lovely eyes." Commented the demon, as if this was the most natural thing to say. He popped a sweet into his mouth.

No reaction.

"I have something to offer you." He tried, chewing lazily.

This perked a guarded interest. "There's nothing I would want from you besides answers. Who are you? How did I get here?" The man demanded, speaking for the second time. The demon was beginning to understand that the rasp in his voice was a permanent deal.

"Patience is bitter, but its fruit is sweet, my love. I'm Asmodeus, but any pet name you wish to appropriate for me is fine."

Narrowed blue eyes widened almost imperceptibly. "The demon."

"Indeed, but I've much more class than the brainless vermin who wander hell." He said, a hint of bitterness in his tone. He watched the man processing this. "You didn't know, did you? Couldn't see the darkness in this vessel?"

The man didn't answer.

"It concerns you doesn't it? That you are so helpless, so naked, so _weak _without your powers?" Sneered the demon. "It hurts, being human, being without the voices of your brothers and sisters. And worse than when you fled them for an ill-conceived notion that you could stop the apocalypse- for a _human _you call Dean_- _because this time your grace is gone completely, and that makes-"

"Enough. What do you want with me?"

Asmodeus had hoped Castiel would rise to the bait of how he had known those things about him, or what had happened to his grace. But it seemed the man wasn't in a playful sort of mood. Bother. "As I said dear, negotiations."

"I'm an angel of the lord. I don't make deals with _cross-road demons_. Or people who abduct me." Hissed the brunette.

"But that's not exactly true now, is it?" Said Asmodeus. He wrinkled his nose. "And I'm much more than a crossroad demon. That fool Crowley would beg to polish my Ferragamo shoes."

"Whatever you've done to my grace, I still serve my Father."

A chuckle. "The absent lout in the sky?"

Castiel bristled. "He revived me at the end of the apocalypse, and at the start too. I was wrong to lose faith in him, and I will not be making deals with a demon. Do as you will with me."

"How cute. The son still thinks Daddy's coming home. Well dear, I hate to break your little heart, but I can't keep you sheltered forever. You'll grow up all soft. Pa's not coming back, and Heaven is going to be a power vacuum of massive proportions. War will break out. Raphael will not doubt take the reigns, and your brother is what I like to call... a traditionalist."

"I am aware of the situation in Heaven." Growled the man.

"He will restart the apocalypse. The one you gave everything to stop. Unless you kill him first."

Castiel was silent for a moment. "Raphael is my brother. I will figure out a -"

"-he's stronger the you. He'll win, and you know it. But I can help you. I can bring him down."

There was only a quick exhalation of air through nostrils, a subtle scoff.

"You don't believe me."

"I don't believe you're still talking."

"You're a sassy one aren't you?" Said the demon, a crooked smile on his face. "I like it."

"You already have my answer. No."

Asmodeus had a patient personality. He could wait weeks, months, for his victims to break. In fact he reveled in it, favoring the stronger souls.

But he enjoyed power, not bartering. This was getting annoying. "I have an army. Seventy-two of the most powerful demons in Hell at my command. With a trap and a plan, it is extremely possible we could succeed. Would you rather sit and watch the Earth crumble? Watch the humans die as their world is torn about by a battle they can't understand? What would Samuel and Dean think, if you allowed all their sacrifices to go to waste?"

Castiel kept his eyes fixed sullenly at the ground. The demon wasn't sure he'd get a response, until there came a quiet voice. "And assuming I believed you, you- a stranger and a demon- that you could help stop Raphael for even a second. Why would you? What is your gain in this 'negotiation'?"

"Raphael and I... have a history. I'd be much delighted to watch him die. But you're right, there is a simple thing I'd require from you in return."

"What?" Asked the man warily.

Asmodeus straightens from his slouch, leaning forward to address Castiel seriously.

"The whereabouts of Dean Winchester."


	3. Chapter 3

A/N:

"AN EVEN SHORTER CHAPTER?" Yes shhh don't worry babies.

I spent the entire day at school after I posted chapter two in a happy daze because _I got reviews. _All six of them. Okay perhaps that's pathetic by most people's standards but I don't have any of my own to go by so I'm thrilled. Thank you so much, and _hah, _I knew you all were thinking this was going to be pure torture. No, don't worry, I'm not ready to completely give into the twisted, possibly sadistic side of my personality yet. Give me like a month. XP Of course you might find that hard to believe when you read chapter four.

I am posting this little snippet now because it's taking a long time to write (I'm a slow writer), and I don't want to piss you guys off. Consider it an appetizer for the heavier "course" I _might _have up tomorrow. more reviews=faster writing.

petalxburn- Bless you. Bless you so much. Here, take my love. *throws it at your face* I SAID TAKE IT!

Netherlady- Oh don't worry honey. We think alike.

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Something didn't feel right.

Dean Winchester went about his life as he had for the past 142 days. 142 mornings in a comfortable bed. Days at a steady job. Evenings spent bonding with a great kid. And nights with a beautiful woman.

They hadn't always been good days, especially not in the beginning. Not when the loss was so raw, the wound so gaping that it was hard to cover it up. But Lisa was understanding, Ben like a son. They took him in, accepted him, gave him love and most importantly allowed him to love them in return. Because after what happened to Sam, there wasn't a lot of love in the world. Not for Dean Winchester,

The misery was like molasses, cold, thick, and sticky. Threatening to drown him, to choke him every day. But for each of those 142 days he got out of bed, kissed Lisa good morning, and _went on._

Because that's what Winchesters did.

They carried on.

Even if they had no heart left to keep beating.

And so Dean did just that. And the pain never left, but over time the molasses perhaps became a little thinner. The smile on his face a little less forced.

It hadn't been forced this morning, for example, flipping pancakes for Ben. Lisa had been trying to explain to the boy algebra, as Dean interrupted.

"Try to think of the X as a number, not a letter." She coaxed.

"But-"

"Don't listen to her, tell your teacher that his ex is gone, man, he's not going to get her back." Dean told him, flipping a pancake tediously high in the air. Only a lifetime of hunter's reflexes allowed him to catch it back in the pan again. Lisa rolled her eyes and tried not to smile as a peal of laughter rang from Ben.

"Can Dean be my teacher instead?" He grinned.

"Sure little man, when you need to learn about picking up girls and rock n' roll." The man strolled to the table with an impressive stack of pancakes in hand.

"So never." Affirmed Lisa, immediately.

Ben scoffed, reaching for a pancake as soon as they were set down. "I'm already a pro at both of those."

Lisa could no longer repress a smile, and suddenly neither could Dean. A real grin, white teeth and crows feet, and the mother and son only beamed wider at the sight of it, because after all these months they could often tell what was fake and what was real. And so there they were, the trio, the broken little family living the American dream.

And it was horribly wrong.

_Something is horrible wrong._

"Dean?"

He looked up at Lisa's concerned face. "Huh?"

"I said can you get the syrup please? You okay?"

_No. Something has gone very bad. _"Yeah of course. Just tired. Kinda busy last night with... well, you know." Winked Dean, earning a sharp glare from the woman. Ben, thankfully, seemed oblivious. The kid was well through his second pancake, moving in on the second.

The hunter moved to the fridge, taking it out and delivering it to Lisa when he felt his phone vibrate with a new text message. He dug into his pocket, thinking up ways to get out of hanging out with his over-friendly next door neighbor. And then he wasn't thinking at all. Because on the screen were written seven letters he hadn't seen in a long time.

_A/N: Yes I know everyone hates Lisa. She's not my favorite by a long shot but at least for most of her time on the show she was a good person who had Dean's best interests in mind and I'm not going to contort that. On the other hand I don't really care about her... so you won't see much of her in this story. Her appearance in this chapter was simply obligatory. _


	4. Chapter 4

A:N: First day of spring break! The birds eggs are hatching, all the students are out to have fun in the spring warmth, and I? I am typing fanfiction. This chapter will probably scare you all away. And it gets worse in the next one. On a less angsty note, Dean and Cas should be reuniting in either the next chapter or the one after that! Haha just kidding that'll only lead to more angst. But fluff and feels and homoerotic subtext will abound as well. Thank you so much to all of those who review! I don't think you realize what it means to me. No seriously. I read them so many times I _memorize _them and then I recite them to myself whenever I hit a roadblock on this.

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_No._

That had been Castiel's response.

A simple, monosyllabic word. One of the first learned by children, and most dearly-used.

"No." He'd said. And said nothing else.

Not a word when the demon had tried to reason with him. When he'd inveigled and pleaded. When he'd held a vial of swirling grace- _Castiel's _swirling grace- in the air and offered it in return for just a small amount of information. The angel never responded.

The demon had eventually lost it's temper. It's soft, pretty face contorting into a snarl and Castiel had found himself suddenly on the floor, the outline of a hand reddening on his face. It frustrated him, how weak he was in this state. Every few minutes he would look at his captor and almost be overwhelmed with repulsion and the urge to smite it, to send such an ungodly thing back to Hell. Asmodeus exuded evil. It didn't take his angelic senses to feel it. Any creature could.

There was something about his tall, posable limbs and dark eyes that inspired discontent. Or perhaps it was his hair- chin-length, slicked back, the color of dark and freshly-tilled earth- and lavish, designer clothing. His face most of all was repugnant. Perfect, pale, as if he were carved from ivory, neat glinting rows of teeth and feline eyes that didn't need to turn black to reveal that a demon hid behind them. His entire appearance seemed fractal to his voice- seductive, soft, but fickle as the tides.

At the receiving end of this fickleness, Castiel felt a fist ram into his face, twice, thrice, five times. They were powerful, painful blows. He could feel his face swelling in protest, but did nothing to defend himself. And then, as quick as they'd started, they stopped. The enraged maniac vanished, replaced with a concerned-looking young man. "Why Castiel..." He doted, stroking the flesh he'd just rained with punches. "That's no good, no good at all..."

He looked distantly down at his captive, who was lying supine beneath him, catching his breath. The demon's expression was thoughtful, concerned even, and his lips moved slightly as he mused, having some sort of debate with himself. He didn't seem much interested in his surroundings, or the fact that his knees were currently pressing into Castiel's ribcage, making breathing hard. The angel wanted to squirm, to kick, to _get it away from him _but he didn't want to trigger another fit. Dean had often cajoled him regarding 'personal space', something that Cas had dutifully obeyed but never understood. Perhaps this was what he was referring to, in which case Cas had quite a few apologies to make if he ever saw him again. The thought of never seeing Dean saddened him almost as much as the realization that he could no longer communicate with his brothers and sisters.

Asmodeus appeared to have settled his internal debate, removing himself from the angel and standing up, stalking over to the door. "Barbas, Daeva!" He called. Two demons appeared in the doorway, quick as smoke on the wind and seemingly from nowhere. The angel hadn't noticed any other figures in what he'd seen of the dwellings, but he hadn't exactly been paying attention, shivering from cold as the demon attempted to show off his house to his captive. "Take this dear down into one of the cells. I'll be there in a few minutes."

And so Castiel, flanked by demons, was lead back through the grand halls. He assumed they were going to stuff him back into the small, dark room he'd awoken in, but the staircase they descended was different: well-built and stone, tucked behind an oaken door. At the bottom were more doors, one of which he was shoved inside. It was a bigger room than the one he'd been held in before, windowless with stone floors and a counter lining one wall. In the center there was a table that Castiel recognized from the morgues Sam and Dean had visited on their cases. It was an autopsy table, used by coroners to split into dead bodies and find what had killed them.

_But I'm not not dead. _He thought as he was stripped of his trench-coat and strapped down to it. The lights overhead were different as well, painfully bright with a whitish-blue glow. He shut his eyes, waiting for his pupils to contract. The table was metal, cold, and he was shivering again. He was beginning to suspect there was something wrong with his body, as he'd never observed humans react this strongly to slight cold unless ill.

It was silent in the room, and straining his neck, Castiel could see the two demons had left. He tested his restraints, cuffs made from leather, and once again was disappointed when they didn't budge. He could feel that weed blooming again, that fear, and shut his eyes, reminding himself that it was his responsibility to protect Dean from all and any harm he could. He was no stranger to torture. When the Host had grown wary of his bond with his charge, and sent him to what Dean called "bible-camp", there had been punishment. Punishment he deep down hadn't felt he deserved. But that was to alienate him from Dean, and this was _for _him. He had and would again endure anything.

There was the clank of a bolt unlocking, and he was no longer alone. He couldn't see much past the bright lights, but the click of designer shoe heels told him who it was.

"Hello love, enjoying your accommodations?" Came his captor's voice.

The angel said nothing.

"That's alright. I must apologize for losing my temper. That was uncalled for." The demon had shut the door behind him and somewhere closer to his captive. It was difficult to pinpoint where. "I suppose I'd just underestimated your bond with the human." There were some clinking sounds from the direction of the counter. Tools. "It's a curious thing, now isn't it? I know you were _told _to protect him, but he can't really blame you if you were forced." The demon's voice was like the silky scales of a fish, brushing by his leg and then slipping back into the inky waters for unguessable periods of time. "And besides, who ever said I wanted something bad with him?"

_The fact that you're a demon. And the fact that you have a scalpel in your hand. _Castiel swallowed, and suddenly wished so desperately to call for help, he could almost feel himself falling into the hole where the connection had been.

"Look at your pretty face. It's all bruised and purple." Sighed Asmodeus. And then the scalpel in his hand was _in Castiel's skin_, a long and steady drag across his cheek. "Red is my favorite color." And red there was, welling up like tears from the cut and spilling down his face. "It brings out your eyes." Another cut, but it was more of a caress, slow and languorous across his other cheek. And Castiel was weeping, not tears, but crimson.

"There. That's better. Now tell me what you know about Dean Winchester. He is your charge, correct? You pulled him from Hell, and he pulled you from Heaven. You helped him stop the apocalypse. I was aware you two must of had some sort of bond from all of this, but I didn't anticipate it'd be this strong. Surely then you know where he is?"

Castiel did know where Dean was. Having a dream life in a house with a woman he loved.

He did not feel inclined to tell.

The demon tutted and disappeared from his peripheries. There was a chiming sound of metal being placed down, and the scrape of something else being picked up. The next thing the angel saw was a knife, much bigger than the measly scalpel and it was cutting through the fabric of Jimmy's suit, as if the demon was too lazy to manually unbutton it. The cool air of the room bit at newly-exposed skin, of his chest and Castiel's shivers increased. It vexed him, that he couldn't control the trembles.

Asmodeus smiled, seeming to take them as a sign of fear. "Shhh," he soothed. "Such a brave little soldier. It's alright. You don't have to fight anymore." With that he cut into the flesh between his ribs. It was a deep, vertical line and it hurt, forcing him to bite back a gasp. The demon frowned, and drew a second line beside it, and another, and another, each deeper until the color of Castiel's stomach was indistinguishable beneath the blood that flowed over it. Castiel screwed his eyes shut as his breaths became uneven. He had been ready to endure this, he knew, but he hadn't anticipated how much worse the pain was as a human.

The knife stopped it's vertical slicing and now dragged horizontally across the existing cuts, hurting twice as much as the already mutilated skin was revisited. The angel's fists clenched, and he began reciting a long orison in his head to distract himself. _We beseech thee, Master, to be our helper and protector. Save the afflicted among us; have mercy on the lowly-_

"That's fitting." Laughed Asmodeus, and Castiel opened his eyes, confused, before realizing that the demon had effectively created a row of crosses across his chest. A macabre parody of his faith. He struggled to keep his face impassive. "Had enough?"

No response.

If the demon was annoyed, he didn't show it, instead raising the blade back to his skin, littering every space he could find with bleeding lacerations. He went on with this for quite some time, sometimes twisting the knife in a way so that Castiel would have to stifle a gasp.

"You picked a beautiful vessel, Castiel." He spoke eventually, and in his voice there wasn't any sarcasm or bitterness. He meant it. This disturbed the angel more than when the knife began to split into the sensitive skin behind his ear, running down his neck. _I'm going to bleed to death. _He thought, vaguely, but Asmodeus seemed to know what he was doing, how to preserve a life, and left his veins intact.

He winced as vertical lines were cut over the ones on his cheeks, closing his eyes tight once more. If he escaped alive, there would be the imprints of two crosses on his face. -_raise up the fallen; appear to the needy; heal the ungodly; restore the wanderers of thy people-_

He wasn't looking to see when the demon leant forward and licked a rolling drop of blood from his face. Castiel shuddered, eyes flying open. Disgust tore through him. Asmodeus smiled at his expression and sucked gently at the flesh of his ear. Chills skittered down the angel's spine, and he turned his head away uncomfortably, stomach rolling with repulsion.

"What's the matter, love?" Leered the demon, practically cackling with amusement. "Like what you feel? You know the humans didn't think me the demon of lust for no reason."

At that there came a snort.

Asmodeus started, clearly not expecting anything but a whimper in response. "Is that funny to you?"

"You..." Castiel had to clear his throat before continuing. "If you were one of the seven sins, you would not be lust."

The demon tilted his head, surprised at the sudden speech, the first there'd been since 'no.' "Oh? And what would I be?"

"Pride." He answered simply.

A flash of annoyance went through the demon's eyes, but he reigned it in. "And what would the Winchester be, then?" He asked, trying to steer the conversation into productive grounds.

The angel considered before answering: "Not here."

Asmodeus's lip curled in anger and he delivered a stinging blow to the side of Castiel's head. "All in time." His voice was tight, restraining a huge amount of rage. The angel realized with a cold feeling that he had gone into one of his tantrums. His captor disappeared from sight. He heard noises, and tried to listen, but the blood loss was making him dizzy. He was beginning to lose track of time, going over the prayer in his head- _raise up the fallen; appear to the needy; heal the ungodly; restore the wanderers of thy people-_

And then Castiel was screaming.

Dimly, he smelled something burning, but the pain was too intense for him to process anything for a moment. When the intensity had softened enough he realized that it was _his flesh_ he smelt burning.

"_Where. Is. Dean_?" Gritted out Asmodeus, teeth clenched in fury. He pressed something into his skin again, something glowing hot and metal. This time Castiel braced himself enough that he bit into his lip instead of crying out, all thoughts once again melting under the white, burning pain. In a blind rage, the demon shoved the remains of his shirt out of the way, pressing burns down his sides. Blood ran from where the angel's teeth were embedded in his lips. -_feed the hungry; ransom our prisoners; raise up the sick; comfort the faint-hearted. _

He tried to concentrate on the prayer, but the pain overrode everything. His body thrashed involuntarily, desperately trying to get away from the heated iron. The smell of his own singed flesh filled him with nausea. His thrashing eased when the iron cooled maybe minutes, maybe hours later. Somehow Asmodeus's anger went with it. "You're a stubborn one." Commented the demon, noticing the blood trickling with Castiel's bottom lip. "That was such a lovely noise you made though. Can you make it for me again?"

_He's insane. _Thought the captive. _Even for a demon._

Castiel was weary.

His body felt like one big wound, pain he didn't know he was capable of feeling erupting from dozens of burns and lacerations. He groaned softly, eyes slipping shut, but not to brace himself from the pain. He was tired. The lure of unconsciousness was strong. Perhaps he would bleed to death before he awoke. That was a nice thought.

Limber fingers stroked through his hair, a motion that was in engrained in Jimmy's instincts (or were they his instincts now?) as comforting. It was what mothers did to their children, wives to their husbands, friends to close friends. It was an action meant for humans to reach out to other humans, and let them know that they were safe.

Which made it all the more disturbing, considering it was his captor, his _torturer_, doing it.

"You're tired Castiel." Soothed Asmodeus, continuing to stroke. "You can rest. But not until I get what I want. I just need one location. The city would be enough. Dean wouldn't blame you, he's a good man. Where is he staying?"

"I..." Castiel croaked. "I haven't spoken to him in months, since the apocalypse. He moves frequently, he could be anywhere." It was half the truth. He'd been determined to stay silent, but it _hurt. _Maybe a lie would satisfy the demon, allow him some respite.

His captor only shook his head sadly. "You're lying. A bond like that would not allow you to go without speaking to him for long."

Guilt constricted in Castiel's stomach. It had been far too long since he'd seen the righteous man. Matters had been tense in heaven, and while even without talking to him Cas could sense the grief in Dean's soul, he knew that what Dean had with Lisa was the closest he could have to a normal life. And for all his powers, a normal life was not something Cas could offer himself.

"I don't believe that it's been any more than a few days since you last contacted him. He may move around but even the last place you saw him is enough."

The angel regret having spoken. Any words at all, even half-lies, were a sign of disloyalty, of failure to Dean, and that was unacceptable. He resolved to stay silent.

"Oh come on, love." Coaxed Asmodeus, kneeling beside the table so his face was just above Castiel's. "Aren't you sick of the pain? The hurt?" His caressing hand moved lower, careful to avoid the various wounds. "I'll make it worth your while." He whispered. "I'll make you feel good."

The shaking of Castiel's body became more apparent, but not out of cold. This was too much. That this demon thought any amount of torture would make him relinquish Dean's safety, and that he was trying now to _seduce _him was almost laughable. Almost, but for the throbbing agony his injuries were causing him. But for the unfamiliar feeling that jolted through him when a finger stroked at his pectoral muscle. He drew in a fast breath.

"You like that, don't you?" Came the demon's voice, the ever-present sensual quality to it more pronounced.

Castiel shook his head in denial, feeling the beginnings of panic curl in his chest. A hand moved lower, and lower still, skilled caresses sending an array of sensations through his body, revulsion and confusion chief among them. But there was something else, something awful and instinctive that forced heat to curl alongside the panic, and as the hand slipped into Jimmy's pants it became too much to bear.

"_Stop!_" Yelled Castiel, filled to the brim with self-loathing as he did. This was another form of torture, nothing more. If he could endure the rest, he should be able to endure this. For Dean. But the pain, even if incomparably more vivid than what he knew of as angel, was something he was used to. This was foreign. Wrong. Sinful.

Asmodeus stopped, hand hovering above the waistline of Jimmy's boxers. "What? Aren't you enjoying this?" It was clear in his tone that he already knew the answer, knew how uncomfortable he was making the angel. He was laughing at it.

"N...no, I-" What was to be an awkward, stumbled plea was cut off by a electronic chiming noise. Both beings looked up, equal in their confusion.

_Low battery. _Announced a muffled, female voice from the recesses of Castiel's discarded trench-coat. With a curious expression Asmodeus got up, investigating the noise as it chimed again. He rifled in the pocket, withdrawing the cellphone Dean had given Cas.

Castiel's haw dropped with utter horror as the demon's brows furrowed in interest. He flipped it open, dismissing the "low battery" message and finding the contacts list. He whooped, a sound of pure joy at what he say. "He's right here!" Shouted the captor between bouts of hysterical laughter. "Dean's been here the whole time!" He exclaimed, waving the phone in his prisoner's face. He looked like he might burst from happiness.

Castiel groaned. This could not be happening.

"Smile!" Cried the delighted demon, selecting the camera and snapping picture after picture of Castiel, who stared up at the flashing cellphone as if it was a tumor doctors had just found on his brain. Despair flooded him. Because he knew Dean, he knew how pigheadedly protective he was. How rash, how arrogant he was in rising to a challenge. How if those pictures got to him he would come looking.

Whatever sick, wretched torture Asmodeus concocted, even if it was of a carnal variety, Castiel could endure.

And he would endure.

But not if it was Dean going through it.

_A/N: Too much whump? MORE whump? Yeah I hope it's not the first one cause that's gonna be awkward when I post chapter five. I'm feeling very insecure about this chapter. I'm going to post it and run. 1, 2... 3! GO! * presses submit document and flees the internet*_


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Haha so not only did it take me a while to write this relatively short chapter, I lied about Dean and Cas interacting in this chapter. Also I thought there was going to be another torture scene but it did not fall into place. But I swear to you they'll see each-other in the next one. Probably more torture too. There's something wrong with me. If I break my promise, you each get to give me a phrase and I'll have to write it in no matter what. I've been very bad at predicting where this story is going or how fast it gets there, sorry. I also gotta warn you guys, once I get off break the updates will be less frequent, maybe twice a week. Or maybe every day if I completely disregard my schoolwork (which has a depressingly high probability of happening.)

All of you in the Eastern Time Zone probably think I live in Britain, seeing as I only update at three in the morning. Sadly, no, I'm stuck in Ohio, I'm just an insomniac and someone who slaves away for you all. 3 Oh, the things you do for love.

petalxburnt: Your thirsts will be quenched next chapter! Hah, but I thought that like two chapters ago so I dunno... this story has become a being of it's own. It abuses my mind and whispers to me at four in the morning to work on it. Thank you sososo much for your reviews YOU ARE THE SHINING STAR OF MY LIFE! Oops am I being creepily affectionate again? Pardon.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

_CASTIEL_

Those were the seven letters flashing across Dean's cell, followed by the icon for a new text message.

_Well that's weird. _He thought. Cas had never texted, even when cellphone communication had been necessary, claiming the buttons were too small for him to type fluently. And then there was the fact that Cas and Dean hadn't exactly been chatty as of late. He pressed to view the message, and _crash, _the maple syrup bottle shattered where it had been dropped. There on the screen was the angel himself, but Dean wouldn't of immediately recognized him if not for the ID of the sender. The man in the picture was, well... fucked up. Lying face-up, covered in blood, dripping from or dried around countless lacerations. His skin was dark and blistered at spots too, spots he recognized as burns. And on his face- "Shit..." Dean swore under his breath. _Are those _crosses?

His eyes were the worse, the stoic blue now contorted with such a deep anguish. They stared at whoever was taking the picture like they were the devil them-self, which, considering Dean's past was ridiculously plausible. He felt sick. Numb. He was dully aware of Lisa, asking him what was wrong, and of sticky syrup at his feet. But none of that mattered. His fingers moved on there own, pressing "reply" and typing just one word:

_Where?_

Twenty minutes later Dean was on the road, AC/DC's "Get it Hot" blasting loud enough to muffle the landslide of questions and worries overwhelming his mind. He didn't know who the sender was. He didn't know what he'd do when he got there. Actually the only thing Dean knew for certain was that he was walking into a trap. And he didn't care.

Lisa had, tugging on his arm as Dean packed a bag, pleading as he unearthed the Impala from where it lay in the garage. He hadn't given much explanation, telling her that 'old business' had resurfaced, and that he had to go. She'd gotten increasingly desperate, in tears by the time he was leaving the door. "Wait, Dean!" She cried. Ben had stopped eating, staring at the proceedings in shock.

Dean turned back. "Lisa, I'm sorry, this is something I-"

Lisa cut him off. "I know! I know. I just... will you come back?"

The man paused, his first instinct to answer "Yes, of course." He wasn't in the most negotiable of moods, but Lisa and him had shared too many times for him to blatantly lie. "I'll try." He finally managed, and looked down to address Ben, who had appeared aside his mother, expression judgemental. "Take care of your mom for me, little man."

And then Dean was gone, full-speed on the highway, heading towards Ohio. It was a four hour drive, four hours that Dean spent stuffing every logical thought that nagged him back down into his subconsciousness. Whenever he managed to quell one, another would surface. The whole thing reminded him of a game of whack-a-mole.

_Cas is an angel, if something is powerful enough to do that to him, imagine what they could do to-_ **whack.**

_You can't just leave Ben and Lisa, they- _**whack.**

_At least make a plan, this is- _**whack.**

_Cas can handle himself, what makes you so desperate anyways, it's as if_- **WHACK.**

Castiel wrapped his arms tighter around his torso, trying to warm up. The cuts on his elbows split and stung at the motion.

There was a misery worse than physical pain. It seeped through his skin, past his bones into a place too deep for any blade to reach. It dripped, it oozed, into his brain until was all he was aware of, and he was drowning.

Dean was not coming for him.

The news had of course been greeted with staggering relief when the demon had informed him. "Sorry dear, lover boy isn't interested." he'd leered, but had still seemed thrilled about something, calling his mysterious soldiers to deal with the captive before practically skipping off.

Castiel had found himself thrown into yet another room, this one clearly meant for keeping people. There was a mat against the wall, and a little side room for relieving oneself (another not particularly pleasant part of being human, he found.) Castiel refused to touch the mat. It was stained in blood and reeked of bodily fluids.

_Dean is safe. _ Thought the angel. He still cursed himself for having the phone in the first place. To be honest, he couldn't answer why he'd kept it. It was no longer practical. But when Lucifer had exploded his vessel, God had restored him with his trench-coat and everything inside. Including the phone. That had to mean something, right?

"Dean is safe." He said out loud, just to reassure himself. And that statement was enough to keep him happy. Or it should of been. But behind the relief crept a feeling of deep sadness. He initially attributed it to his wounds, but it was much greater than anything physical. He reminded himself repeatedly that Dean had not taken the bait, that this was a boon, but that only spurred it. He tried to will it away, appalled at his selfishness, but the longer he sat-shivering and shirtless in the damp, cold room- the stronger it grew.

He felt strangely... abandoned. It was a stupid feeling, he knew. It wasn't Dean's fault that he was in this situation. Castiel had a responsibility to protect his charge, and not the other way around. But still, after everything they'd been through together, after all he'd learned from the hunter, he'd thought- tentatively- that they might of been something more. Family, or friends, Cas wasn't good with the classification of relations. But he did know that he felt for the man. A warming in chest when the hunter something human and typical of him. Even when it was counterproductive, when, in the early days of their acquaintanceship, Dean had looked him in the eyes and refused to follow Heaven's orders. Cas had been enthralled, intrigued with his boldness. His spirit. His utter defiance for what he thought was right. To him, Dean was the perfect human. And so when Heaven became corrupt, Cas had tried to imitate him, in his own ways. He'd rebelled. He'd drank liquor. He'd even tried to parrot the brothers' speech, although "assbutt" had not been one of his wittier moments.

And Dean, in turn, would sometimes look at him in a way that Cas wanted to believe was fond.

But what one desires, and what is reality are two different things, Castiel reminded himself. Whatever friendship he might of had with his charge, it did not entail that Dean had to be his personal body guard. The hunter had better things to do, even if they were just mowing the lawn of his picket-fence house.

_Dean Winchester is safe. _He repeated firmly, once again.

But it didn't stop the hurt.

The Impala came rolling to a stop outside an abandoned building. Dean stepped out, opening the trunk and grinning at the familiar array of weapons concealed there. He had no idea what he was facing- the list of things out for his head had grown too long for him to keep any type of track. But it was powerful enough to take out an angel, so it was probably pretty damn strong. He took a healthy mix of everything he could comfortably carry, stocked mainly against demons, vampires, and shapeshifters.

Dean had yet to fully process the image he'd seen on his phone. The angel, usually unfalteringly stoic, now so morbidly abused. It was nauseating. It called for revenge.

He strolled up to the abandoned building,- an office space, it looked like it had once been. He vaguely acknowledged his feet crunching on broken glass, but didn't think much of it. The double doors were open, a chain broken and discarded on the ground. The first floor was empty of any life, half-standing cubicle dividers casting shadows on the filthy carpet. Chairs lay upturned here and there, papers scattered across empty desks. Everything was covered in a thick layer of dust. Besides the broken chain, there were no signs that anyone had been here recently. No signs until Dean noticed a trace of mud. Fresh mud. He examined it interestedly, finding another smear on the edge of the first step of a staircase. It was a clear trail. Dean began to climb.

Memories of how he'd arrived at this place were starting to leak back. They came broken, jagged like the shattered remains of a vase and not always in chronological order. Castiel had initially remembered nothing at all. But sometime after being escorted to this new holding cell he became aware of a distinct recollection.

_Chairs._

There had been chairs.

And then they'd been capsized.

He concentrated on this, trying to distract himself from the misery. His head ached, and he didn't seem to be getting anywhere until-

_Castiel landed and looked around, confused. A prayer had drawn him here, and yet there was no human in sight. He scanned the room, taking in an abandoned workspace before demons jumped out from behind a row of desk chairs, taking him by surprise._

Up the foreboding stairway walked Dean, trying to ignore the feeling that this was wrong. Wherever Cas was being held, it was probably more fortified, or at least more _used _than this eerily abandoned building. At the top of the stairs was the second floor, it's appearance drastically different than the first. A battle had taken place here. Chairs were scattered everywhere, as if a whirlwind had picked them up and tossed them around before depositing them in random piles in the room.

_He smote the first few with ease, drawing his Enochian blade and stabbing when smiting became too slow. There were dozens though, the sheer number threatening to overwhelm him. Chairs toppled and went flying as they fought, Castiel a blur of movement and sheer power, obliterating those in his way until he suddenly found himself barred behind a wall of flames. Confused, he moved back, only to find they had encircled him. _Holy fire. _He realized, and grew enraged. The last being who'd trapped him in the magical flames was the devil himself. That these demons dared to toy with him was- _very Winchesteresque- _a strange part of him mind supplied, and he ignored it. One of the demons, a limber, well-dressed figure with longish dark hair was reciting something from a scroll. It was Enochian, extremely ancient, so much that Castiel did not recognize most of the words, and powerful. He could sense it, the force of the words. It was a deep magic. Deeper than any human could attempt to fiddle with. _

And there was one more thing about the room, something odder than the rest.

It was littered with broken glass.

_Castiel was screaming, his true voice surfacing so that every demon in the room dropped to their knees and clamped their hands over their ears. Except the tall one, who only spoke louder over the noise, the spell ripping the angel's grace from his body, depositing it in a small vial in his free hand. Castiel's cry rose in volume. Glass exploded from every window, falling in a cascade upon the huddled demons. And then he passed out._

Dean bent down, inspecting a funny ring on the carpet. _Are those ashes? _He wondered, and it was the last thought he had that day. Because before he could answer his own question, a blow crashed into the back of his head.

The angel's head throbbed, reeling from the vivid trip down memory lane. _So he wasn't lying about my grace. _Thought Castiel, remembering the vial Asmodeus had offered him. He would still refuse anyways.

The captive was drowsy. The torture, the confusion, the abandonment, the fact that he was feeling emotions this strongly at all. It was overwhelming. He lay down on his side, still shivering, as he drifted off sleep.

_A/N: I hope this chapter wasn't too slow. I was going to add another bit at the end that would intrigue you, but... I'm tired. I think I'm sick. It'll be the first thing I write tomorrow. As a reward for this one potentially sucking, I'll do Chaper Six faster! I love all of you, including those who followed but haven't reviewed. You should stop by and say hello! It'll motivate me and make me feel like I have friends. (lol "have friends" that was a joke get it haha funny)_


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Sorry for the drastic lack of updates. I was feeling kind of depressed and embarrassed about this story, but eventually I read the kind reviews and it picked up my spirits enough for me to write this. Hoped you all enjoyed the Mishapocalypse! And how about that new Supernatural episode? Poor Kevin! I hope the Tran-bby is alright. And don't even talk to me about Benny or the fact that Naomi is contorting Dean's trust. I'm still upset. At least we got to see Bobby and a cool look inside Hell/Purgatory. I wonder what's up with Sam's glowing hand?

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Castiel could hear voices. Two of them to be exact, words drifting in and out of the peripheries of his consciousness.

"...the angel?"

"...yes he's... came running!"

A chuckle. More words. "...amusing, but..."

"...the righteous man... certain that..."

"...I want to trust you... the spell..."

"...Dean Winchester."

His eyes shot open. He was still alone in the dark cell, but people were talking outside. '_People' might not be the most exact approximation. _Thought the angel, recognizing the silky speech of his captor. But what was the other? A female, he could tell. She was speaking now in a soft, dreamy, manner.

"You're going to fix this, Azy, you're going to fix things right up."

"Don't I always, my dear?" The demon seemed to be fond of the pet name. He'd used it to address his prisoner, and now this girl.

"Yes, you always do. But it seems such a distant fantasy..."

"It's a reality that will come to be in less than twenty four hours."

There was a silence.

"Come on dear." Said the demon the, and two pairs of footsteps receded into the distance and up the stairs. Castiel was confused. The girl he'd heard was not one of the demonic soldiers, he could tell by the tone in which she'd been addressed. It had been affectionate. Not the false, creepy affection bestowed upon the angel; but a genuine, doting kind. _Who is she?_ He wondered, before the lure of sleep ensnared him once more.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Asmodeus smiled.

Things were going well.

Better than they'd gone in a long while.

Not only was there the reminiscent glee that he'd _captured an angel_, but now Dean Winchester had now come running straight into his trap. He'd heard the man was risibly self-sacrificing but this... this was _absurd. _He laughed out loud at the thought. The hunter had believed a picture that only _happened _not to be faked, and then gone to the texted address without a second thought. There was boldness... and then there was stupidity.

Dean Winchester seemed to fall into the second category.

The demon couldn't wait to meet him in person, to see what kind of man held possession over such a suicidally reckless brain. But wait he did, for two hours now. The Winchester was still being transported, and would probably remain unconscious for some time after arrival.

In his restlessness, he'd taken his captive out to play. The man was different than he'd been yesterday. His mask of stoicism wasn't _gone _per se, but the man seemed to have less determination. Cries were drawn out of him with startling ease. Asmodeus had only been able to get one the last time, and that was from catching him by surprise. Whatever reservations the captive possessed before had clearly been diminished.

Or maybe the bed of his fingernails was just more sensitive than his torso. It seemed to be that way with most people, and probably Castiel too, if his cries were anything to go by. Asmodeus drove farther under the man's nail, triggering another ear-splitting shriek, and a shiver down the demon's spine. It was lovely, the noises the man could make. His normal voice was low and rough as sandpaper, but in agony it crescendoed into a high note. The torturer couldn't get enough of it.

He wondered absently if the sandpaper voice was even rougher now, from strain on the vocal cords. "Talk to me, love."

Of course, only silence answered. Any speech at all had been a victory so far. He'd heard some last session, but the captive seemed to have clamped down completely now. Well. At least in terms of words. He pried upwards with the needle and Castiel made a strangled groan in his throat, mouth stubbornly shut. Asmodeus frowned and tore the fingernail completely free, sighing contentedly as he did so because there was that noise again.

"Why don't you tell me where Dean is?" He asked, none of the angry edge to his voice from last time present. In fact, he even had to stifle a giggle, because he knew exactly where Dean Winchester was. In some car, blindfolded by demons, probably half way to the mansion as he interrogated.

But Castiel didn't know this.

And that was where it got really fun.

Because for all the physical suffering he could deliver, for all the torture he knew how inflict; nothing, _nothing, _could trump the expression of a heartbroken man. He could see it now, staring despondently to the side.

_Heartbroken._ Thought Asmodeus. _An accurate word, if a little melodramatic. But what's the harm in a little melodrama?_

Lying to Castiel had been an impulsive decision, but a good one, he now realized. Telling him the Winchester wasn't taking the bait had only immediately triggered relief, to his annoyance, but in the long run it had paid off.

He'd observed that a human being's threshold of pain raised when they were crying out, making noise. Somehow the distraction made it easier to endure. It occurred to him that the angel was doing just that. _Enduring. _He no longer cared to put on an appearance, to be the noble warrior or the brave hero. It was simple survival. He was hanging in there, but only for the sake of hanging in. A clock still ticking when the deadline was past. A factory still churning while no product was being made. A solider marching on after the battle was lost.

"Come now, we're friends, you can tell me anything." Wheedled Asmodeus. He'd postulated that since the man thought his friend had abandoned him, he would be more forthcoming in information. But that did not seem so. The captive's lips remained closed as ever, except of course, in vocalizations of pain.

The demon tutted. The fingernail prying was an old favorite of his. It'd been used by humans since the middle ages; and much, much, longer by him. The tactic was unfalteringly effective, but even the best things could get old. He checked his watch- an expensive Vacheron Constantin- and wondered when the hunter would arrive.

Eventually boredom drove him to change methods, returning to heated poker that had earned him his captive's first cry. His torso was still covered in the ugly burns- he'd made sure that they cauterized the deepest of the incisions he'd made so that the man wouldn't bleed to death. He knew what he was doing, how deep he could cut and where, and he'd made sure to avoid fatal locations. But it was amazing what lowered spirits could do to someone's chance of mortality.

This time he decided to try the man's feet- he'd learned from experience that they were the most heat-sensitive part of the body. It was odd, considering they were evolved for constant contact with the ground. But all questions flew out of his mind when Castiel _writhed_, a noise building in his throat until it erupted into a scream, steam rising from where the iron made contact with the sole of his foot. All four of his limbs strained desperately against the restraints.

The iron had begun to cool when Asmodeus noticed that his captive's eyes, albeit bleary with agony, were looking at something behind him. Whatever it was had to be pretty damn interesting to capture what was left of the man's attention. The demon turned and discovered that yes, it was indeed worthy of attention, even the attention of a tortured man.

"Sarah!" He yelped, surprise heavy in his voice.

The girl blinked at him like a doe, long eyelashes brushing against her cheeks. "Hello, Azy..." She drawled, a small smile on her face.

"You shouldn't be here, darling." He chastised, tone serious despite the term of endearment.

"Oh, but it's nice in this room. An _angel _resides." She said dreamily, eyes drifting towards Castiel.

The said 'angel' was staring back, but his eyes were sharp and summative behind the haze of suffering. He seemed confused by her presence.

Which was understanding. Sarah was pretty, with dark brown eyes, and thick, darker, hair. Her body was frozen at the peak of youth, forever appearing nineteen years old even if it had existed for almost two thousand. Her skin was pale aside from the rosy pink cheeks, and something about her seemed delicate, ethereal. As if she were a porcelain doll. She looked out of place in this room, this place so swathed in bloodshed, so resounding with tortured screams.

"Not quite an angel my dear, and still, this is really no place for you to be." Asmodeus reaffirmed.

"You've clipped his wings." She stated, walking over to the captive and trailing a slim finger down his cheek, over the engraved cross. Castiel didn't react, still fixing her with a critical stare. "Do you dream of flying?" She whispered into his ear, but the demon could hear.

The man seemed to have reached some sort of conclusion, his eyes widening and then softening with pity.

_Pity._

Asmodeus felt his blood boil.

How _dare _such a weak and broken thing like Castiel _pity_ the true perfection that was his lover.

"Sarah," he growled. "Leave."

The girl seemed to recognize the tone in his voice, and with one last dazed look at the captive, departed.

The demon could feel the rage, crashing through his body like a tidal wave, and he embraced it, as he always did.

"I'll show you _pity_!" He shouted, vision going white with anger.

And then he picked up a knife.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Dean awoke to screaming.

It was distant, muffled, but still disconcerting.

_Where the hell am I? _He thought, and then remembered.

"Shit." He swore aloud. Whatever had Cas had gotten him. He looked around, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. He could make out a mattress and an iron door, beneath which the only light shined. Still, he didn't need much illumination to tell how _dirty _the room was. His nose did that for him.

He stood up, wincing at the rush of blood from his aching head, and walked over to the door. There was no doorknob, and a firm push told him it was locked- but not bolted. He felt around until he found the keyhole and then grinned in relief. This, he could work with. Plus the annoying screams had stopped. Whatever poor sap was making those, Dean didn't want to end up like. He needed to find Cas and get out of here, they could go back to kill whoever had kidnapped them later.

The hunter surveyed his supplies. His weapons had been confiscated, save for one dagger concealed at the bottom of his shoe. A lighter and a lock-pick also laid untouched inside his jacket. He pulled out the latter object, beginning to fiddle with the lock. It was old and stubborn, and Dean was only halfway through when he heard footsteps approaching. He scrambled back, retreating to a corner of the room and stuffed the pick back inside his pocket. The door clicked opened, flooding the room with light and he just had time to make out three silhouettes before one of them was shoved into the room, and the door closed once more.

_A/N: Yay, more torture! And Dean!torture next chapter!1 Aren't you guys excited? *shocked silence and nervous stares* Yeah, I tend to have that effect on people. I hope you all don't think Sarah is some Mary Sue OFC I'm trying to force on you. She's actually not even an original character, just my take on someone from "The Book of Tobbit", an ancient Jewish lore that also featured Raphael and Asmodeus. This story is going to have a lot of references to shit that went down in it. Don't worry though, you don't have to read it, everything will be explained. Also it's written in ancient Aramaic, so you might have trouble even if you wanted to. Dean and Cas are actually, for real, 100% for sure going to interact first thing next chapter. I know this time because I already have half of it written. Reviews are motivation._


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: In case anyone has noticed Dean and Cas think of the latter as "the angel" while Asmodeus thinks of him as "the man" up until this chapter, yes, that was on purpose. Castiel still considered himself an angel deep down, but he's changing now. Also, Cas- only thinks of himself as "Cas" when he's thinking about or is around Dean. In case you think Cas acts out of character or sorta crazed/emotional in this chapter, he is at this point very food/water deprived and somewhat traumatized.

Was gonna make this chapter have more plot scenes and have you guys wait longer, but fuck it. WE'VE WAITED LONG ENOUGH FOR OUR BABIES TO REUNITE. Hope you all don't puke in your mouths from the fluff. I thought they earned at least _a little_. Come on now.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Labored breathing was the only sound in the room. Dean could just make the other figure out, lying on their side, arms wrapped tightly around them-self. Every once and a while they would let out a soft groan, and even from here Dean could _smell _the blood. As his pupils adjusted to the dark he could make out more- dark, wild hair, a shivering, beat-up frame, black dress pants and-

Dean gasped. "_Cas?_"

The angel jumped, pulling himself defensively into an upright position. "Who's there?" He rasped. Clearly he hadn't been aware that there was another inhabitant in the room. His eyes darted around, trying to make out anything in the darkness.

"Cas it's me! And man, what the _hell _happened to you?" Demanded Dean. "You look like someone chucked you through a meat grinder."

The other only groaned and put his hands over his ears, tucking his face behind his knees in an almost childish rejection of the world.

Confused, Dean stood up and walked over to him, kneeling so he was at eye level. "Hello? Cas?" He put a hand on his shoulder, only to have it shrugged off violently.

"Go away!" Snarled Castiel, and then groaned again. "I am not insane. I am _not _insane." He repeated under his breath, and then started muttering something in Latin.

Dean's bewilderment only deepened before something clicked and he understood. _He thinks he's hallucinating. _"Hey, buddy, it's me. Really. Look." He reached out and placed his hand on the other's shoulder again, this time cautiously. When he was not rejected, he splayed his fingers firmly. "See? I'm real. "

Cas finally looked up, an odd kind of rapture in his eyes before they clouded in despair. "No... but... how?" He croaked. "I didn't tell them, I wouldn't..."

"No, dude, I got the text." Dean explained.

The angel's face was buried once again in his hands. "Nononono..." He mumbled, voice coming out muffled. "It was the woman, the woman not me-"

"What woman?"

"The woman in the phone, she said it was low on battery, the demon heard..."

"Woah, calm down, it's okay." Soothed Dean. The angel's behavior was disturbing him. "I would of found out anyways."

"It is _not _okay! It's my duty, my obligation, my _honor _and I have betrayed it, I-"

"CAS!" Shouted Dean, and the brunette stopped at once, seeming to curl in on himself. The hunter winced. "Sorry, it's just... stop, okay? It's alright. I'm gonna get us out of here."

The angel was quiet, staring down at the grimy floor. "I'm sorry Dean." He whispered, dolefully. Then, even quieter: "He said you were not coming."

"What? Well that's a load of crap. I'm here, aren't I?" Dean asked, indignantly. "Who is this son of a bitch anyways? Is he the same one who fucked up your face? What are those, crosses? Jesus Christ..." He was finding it hard to contain his outrage.

"Asmodeus." Said Cas, softly. "An ancient demon. I'd heard tales of him before. He is... vile."

"Well why don't you heal yourself up, and fix my headache while you're at it, and let's go smite him!"

"Dean," he sighed. "If I could do that, don't you think I would of already?"

The man swallowed, a bad feeling in his stomach. "What's stopping you?"

"My grace. He did a spell, he has it trapped in a vial. I... I am human." Said the angel, regretfully.

"Oh." It took Dean a moment to process this. "Well... welcome to the sweet life." Castiel tilted his head, and Dean smiled at the familiar gesture. It'd been too long. "That's okay though, we'll deal. What does this As-mo-jo guy want anyways?"

"You." Came the simple answer.

"And that's why he..." Dean gestured vaguely to the angel's- _no, the man's- _marred body. "He wanted to know where I was?"

"Yes."

"Oh." Well damn if that wasn't another tally in the self-hatred box. There were very few people he knew who wouldn't turn him over without a second thought, and most of them were dead. Or serving as a deck of playing cards for the devil. "Thanks." He mumbled awkwardly, because there was no way he could express all that he felt at that moment. "You should of given me up. I wouldn't of blamed you."

Cas snorted. "That's what the demon said too. Do you really think I'm that disloyal? I'm a soldier, Dean. I've been made to endure worse."

The hunter coughed and rubbed the back of his neck. He didn't feel comfortable with this, with confronting his guilt, and so he changed the subject. "D'ya have any idea what he wants? I mean, that'd have to take an awful lot of power, to steal an angel's grace. And just for the _chance _you might know about me. It's not like I'm worth anything anymore. The apocalypse is over, ol' Mike and Luc are caged up."

"You're always worth something, Dean." Said the other man, seriously. "I have suspicions he is performing some type of spell, probably involving your blood, or soul. He was talking to a girl- Sarah- outside this cell, and I believe I overheard something along the lines. I was... disoriented, however."

"Who's Sarah?"

"I'm not sure. She isn't a demon, but almost certainly not human either. Asmodeus loves her deeply. He gets quite jealous." Cas frowned, as if remembering a bad experience. "I think she's... cracked. She talked to me and seemed 'loopy', as you'd say." He adopted a sad expression. "I don't blame her. Long-term exposure to the demon probably has that effect."

"I'll take your word for it. So they want me for some spell... that means they'll probably come and get me for their ritual sooner or later."

"That seems the most probable event, but I'm really not certain about-"

"-which will leave you alone." He fished in his jacket, pulling out the lockpick and handing it to Castiel, who looked blankly at the trinket. "You'll have a chance to escape."

Castiel stared at it him incredulously for a moment before responding. "Even if I were willing to leave you with Asmodeus- which I am not- escape would be improbable. I've seen at least two demons other than him, and he mentioned having an army of 72."

"It's better than both of us staying here. They'll be distracted with me, with whatever this grand spell is. You could get out, get your strength up, return with a plan. I'll be-"

"_No." _Castiel barked. "The fact that you believe I'm even considering this offends me. I will _not _leave you here, to go through what I've gone through or worse. That is completely out of the question."

Dean could see he'd made the man angry and was gentle when he spoke next. "Cas. Do you remember how we first met? You pulled me from Hell. _Hell_. Thirty years. Whatever this guy can do, he has nothing on Alistair. I'll manage."

"I'm more aware than anyone of your strength Dean, believe me, but I still am not going to leave you to unnecessary suffering. Besides, whatever the spell is, the ritual will more than likely lead to your death. I can not allow that."

"Well what's _your_ plan then?"

There was no answer, and Dean sighed. Silence reigned for a while, Cas staring at the ground and the hunter trying to think of another course of action. Eventually he became aware of the sound of chattering teeth, and glanced over to the ex-angel, observing how he shivered. "Do you have a cold or something?"

Castiel shook his head. "I am not sick. Most of my time as an angel was spent as pure, celestial energy. Humanity is... cold, in comparison."

"What about your voice though? You sound like you ate nails and cacti for breakfast. More than usual, I mean."

Cas looked down and shifted. He seemed uncomfortable, ashamed almost. "I have been more susceptible to the demon's... methods, as a human. My self-control is diminished. I didn't know how else to cope." His voice tapered off into a small whisper.

His words didn't make any sense to Dean. He stared confused for a moment. And then he remembered the screams he'd heard when he first woke up. Agonized screams. _Cas's screams._

The guilt reached a boiling point, and something in him.

He took off his jacket, handing it to the brunette.

Cas took it uncertainly, as if he wasn't sure what to do, and so Dean helped him put it on. He tried to avoid any injuries, but it was hard to see them in the dim light. For that Dean was glad, unsure if he was ready to stomach just how much Castiel had suffered for him.

He zipped it hurriedly, so he wouldn't have to see whatever wounds had been inflected onto the man's torso, and then admired his work. It was almost funny how strange Cas looked in the leather jacket, but it would warm him up. Dean thought the man might come up with some self-sacrificial bullshit about the hunter needing it more, but instead he just stared at Dean with a look of pure gratitude. And something more. Affection. Usually this would of made him uncomfortable, maybe a little pissed off. But now all it did was add to the guilt.

Dean Winchester did not deserve a look like that.

"Cas, listen to me, buddy." He said, taking the man's head in his hands so that they were looking each other in the eye. "I'm gonna get you out of here. You and me? We've been through way too much together to let some punk-ass demon take us down. I came for you man. And I'm gonna leave with you. We clear?"

The man looked at him then, smiling without moving his mouth at all in that way only Cas could, and Dean felt something warm in his chest.

"Come here." He said, and hugged him.

Cas was stiff, uncertain at first, but Dean did not relent, rubbing his back in an attempt to stop the trembling. Eventually the ex-angel's hands found their way to Dean's back in tentative, awkward reciprocation.

"I got you." Whispered the hunter, and whatever barrier Cas had set up suddenly crumbled. Dean felt fingers digging almost painfully into his back, arms clamped around him with the force of a boa constrictor. Hair tickled his neck from the head buried there. They were sensations Dean hadn't felt since Sammy was a little kid, suffering from nightmares. They brought something out in him, some protective and warm side of his personality that made his rubbing turn into more of a stroke. Something to comfort the soul, rather than the body.

Castiel's trembling increased, even though he was now warm.

There were so many words that needed to be said.

_You're safe now._

_I've missed you._

_I'm sorry. _(ten thousand times)

_I thought you'd abandoned me._

_Never._

But words weren't a high point for either of them.

So a hug sufficed.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Oh man. This whole staying up till four in the morning writing thing? Not working. I just found from one of the earlier chapters that I wrote "fandom" instead of "family". Not sure if I should be touched or appalled with myself.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Castiel stood up, nearly falling back over as he did so. His body had lost too much blood and regained too little, making him incredibly lightheaded. He braced himself against the wall, waiting for the black spots in his vision to disappear. _I don't have time for this._ He thought, and limped hurriedly over to the sink in the side room, turning on the tap. A stream of rusty water poured out. He waited impatiently for it to clear.

The plan he'd formulated with Dean needed to be carried out as soon as possible. He wasn't sure how long Asmodeus would take with his spell, or if it was a spell at all. But whatever he wanted with Dean, it couldn't be good. The two soldiers- _ Barbas and Daeva, _he recalled- had taken the hunter away just moments ago, and there was no time to spare.

When the water turned a slightly more palatable hue, he drank. It was an unfamiliar action, and the liquid tasted foully metallic, but his body needed it. After the first sip he gulped half a dozen mouthfuls greedily. The lightheadedness sure enough cleared substantially, and he hurried to the door, pulling out the picklock he'd finally accepted.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

_"Dean." Cas had said, after a long fifteen minutes of silence. They were sitting side-by-side, the ex-angel staring at the ceiling, the hunter towards the ground. _

_"Yeah?"_

_"There are sprinklers installed on the ceiling."_

_Dean raised his eyebrows in a questioning manner. "So? You trying to take a bath or something?"_

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

"Take a seat Dean."

"Yeah... no thanks. I'd rather not get AIDS to top off the headache."

The proffered 'seat' was more of a table. An ugly, steel thing that looked like it had been stolen from a morgue. And it was covered in blood- dried or still drying, smeared or pooled in little canals clearly meant to accommodate it.

"Yes, sorry... live bodies bleed more than dead ones. The blood does become an awful mess." Said the demon, mournfully, and Dean couldn't tell for the life of him how serious he was being. "But I don't think diseases will be an issue for you. Unless your angel was engaged in activities that I'm finding myself hard-pressed to imagine."

Dean glanced back at the table, realizing the implication, and feeling sick. A nauseating smell of something _burnt _permeated the room as well. He'd never gotten a chance to see more than glimpses of Cas's injuries in the dim-lit room, but he knew they must of been bad. _Worse than bad. _He now realized. He wondered if the now-mortal would be able to carry out the plan at all.

"Yeah, well, I wouldn't wanna stain my fine clothing." Said Dean, mockingly. He was in a t-shirt and jeans.

"Suit yourself. You'll end up there sooner or later, but it's not strictly necessary for another fifteen minutes."

"Oh, so it's one of those timed rituals. When the clock ticks midnight you take me out and gut me under the full moon? That kind of deal?"

"Something like that." Replied Asmodeus. He was watching Dean with an expression that put him on edge. It wasn't angry, it wasn't thrilled. Not even impatient. Just... interested. Extremely interested.

_The bastard is testing me. _He thought. _I'll show him the ropes._

Cas had put extreme emphasis on the fact that he _shouldn't _bait the demon in any way. _"Asmodeus has an unpredictable temper. Dean... please, don't provoke his anger. He'll kill you." _His friend had sounded almost desperate, probably speaking from experience.

"_Relax, dude, he won't kill me unless he's finished with the spell. He wouldn't have gone through all that trouble just to waste it over a bad temper."_

The man had not been convinced. _"He would. He gives into anger when it comes, he lives off it. He'll do horrible things to you, even if he doesn't kill you. Dean, please." _Cas had looked him in the eyes. "_Don't."_

But already Dean could feel pure hatred boiling in his gut for his abductor. For Castiel's torturer. A little attitude was the least he could do. He leaned against the wall, still refusing to touch the awful table. "So you're one desperate sucker aren't you?"

Asmodeus tilted his head in question, and Dean felt his stomach roll because that motion belonged to _Cas._

"Well you know, kidnapping an angel. You must really be at the end of the rope."

"Not an angel anymore, Dean."

"Yeah. How'd you get the power to pull of a spell that powerful? I didn't even know that kind of magic existed."

"Despite this vessel's youthful glow, I'm old Dean. I possess power you couldn't begin to imagine."

"Yeah, yeah, heard it all before. So you use all this power to get what? One empty vessel for an angel stuck in the cage?"

"Your status as a vessel is unimportant to me, love. Your value lies in your weakness." Smiled the demon. He seemed awfully calm in comparison to what Cas had described.

"What do you mean?"

"You gave in Dean. You broke the first seal. Because of you, the apocalypse started."

"Yeah, well, I _ended_ it too!" Snapped the hunter, defensively.

"It doesn't matter. Your blood is that of a seal-breaker."

What was this? Make-Dean-Winchester-hate-himself-day? He swallowed. "So?" His voice was smaller than he'd like.

"So your blood is the only kind I know for sure is compatible with my spell. Most seal-breakers are dead, or otherwise incapacitated."

_So Cas was right. _Thought Dean.

"And I really, _really_, need this spell to be done, you see. So why don't you be a good boy and take a seat?"

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Castiel struggled with the lock. As an angel, there were many ways he could deal with a locked door. Teleportation, translocation, simply tearing it off it's hinges. Unfortunately these were no longer options, and so here he was, fiddling with the little human contraption used by thieves and rogues. And Dean Winchester, who, arguably, could fall into both of those categories.

It took a few minutes before a little _click _was heard, and the man pushed the door open, stumbling out into the hallway. He looked around, wondering where the boiler room would be.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

_"The demon is extremely vain about his house. And everything, really. He probably had the sprinklers installed in the case of a fire." Theorized Cas._

_Dean shook his head. "Nah, demons aren't into long-term stuff like that. If a fire burned this place down, he'd just go find another." _

_The two of them had been through almost every tactic in the book, from exorcism (the demon would cut them off first) to hostages in devil's traps (Asmodeus wouldn't care). It was starting to look hopeless._

_Castiel seemed persistent about the sprinklers, however. "Asmodeus is very... sentimental." _

_Dean cocked an eyebrow. "Wasn't very sentimental about dicing you up like sushi, dude."_

_His comment went ignored. "This house is old, from the nineteenth century. He gloated about it in great detail to me. It would not of been built with flame-protective measures. Either he installed them, or someone did recently enough that they would still be functional. Probably set off by smoke-detectors. I saw a few when they brought me down here." _

_"Soo...? You wanna try and drown them?"_

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Dean had to admit, the foul sumbitch was strong.

Demons in general of course were stronger than humans, but this Asmodeus guy had wrapped a hand around his throat and tossed him onto the table like a rag doll. Dean had fought with all his might, knowing it was no use, but wanting to buy time. His abductor didn't even bat an eye, holding him down with _a finger _and strapping down restrains with the others.

"You know, dude..." Wheezed Dean, coughing profusely from being suspended by his windpipe. "I don't have anything against that kinky stuff, I really don't..." _Cough. _"But bondage isn't my cup of tea." Smile.

Asmodeus adjusted the last cuff without any reaction and then stared at the hunter, thoughtfully. "You know Dean," He said, after a long pause. "You and I are a lot alike."

The man laughed- not scoffed, not chuckled- flat out _laughed _at that. "Save it, brother."

"Oh but I mean it, love." Said the demon, stroking the hunter's dirty-blonde hair. Dean only laughed harder. _Not only delusional, but sorta gay. _"Think about it. We both take everything we feel and concentrate it into anger. Or attitude, as is more frequent in your case."

"Speak for yourself, Yosemite Sam. I heard about your little tantrums from Cas. That's nothing like me."

"Cas!" It was the demon's turn to laugh, delighted by this nickname, like a child given a bag of sweets. "Is that what you call him? How adorable."

Dean was momentarily flustered by the slip of tongue, but did not break his guise. "Better name than As-mo.-jo, or whatever the hell you call yourself. Can't imagine any girls wanting to scream _that _out."

"See? Right there! You're _hiding _Dean, you're a fox cornered in it's den, snapping at everything that comes near. But you can't hide from me, dear." Said Asmodeus, face disgustingly empathetic. "I find emotions. I can always see them, always, no matter how buried. I found dear little Castiel's- no sorry- _Cas's._"

There were a few things that filled Dean with irrational amounts of anger. One was people who _weren't Dean _calling Sam 'Sammy'. It looked like the demon had just found another.

"I must admit, it was quite the foray, but worth it in the end. The dear has an awfully big heart. Even as an angel. I don't think he realized it. But I made him." The demon bent down so he was hissing into Dean's ear. "I made him _scream_."

The hunter felt something go cold. "Why did you keep at it after I'd already been caught? What were you trying to get from him?"

"Fun." Shrugged Asmodeus. "And I got it." Then something malevolent sparked in his eyes. "Did you know your angel had never been touched? It came as a surprise to me anyways. I supposed he's not exactly good with the ladies, but still, he's pretty..."

_Touched? _Dean frowned, not what he was talking about, before a memory flashed behind his eyes. A fond memory of a stiff and terrified Cas being dragged away by some poor hooker who didn't know what she was getting herself into. It was a memory that made him a smile, one that he associated with hearty laughter and his friend's uncomfortable face. Leave it to the demon to turn it into a bad one. Because imagining that expression with Asmodeus as the cause was no longer funny. "What are you saying?" He asked, not wanting to hear the answer.

"I think you know."

Dean blanched, "You're _sick."_

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

It had taken ten minutes and several misleading twists and turns to find the boiler room. Walking was hard. Although nothing was broken, he was still dizzy and in a lot of pain. Above all, the burns on his foot were hindering, forcing him to limp on the good one. At every corner he expected to find a demon, but so far he'd been alone.

Asmodeus seemed very independent. He was obsessed with style, but didn't seem to mind getting his hands dirty if it meant he did it on his own. Wherever the mythical '72 demons' were (if they existed), they apparently steered clear from the basement regions of the mansion, where Asmodeus did his torturing.

The door to the boiler room was heavy but unlocked, giving in with a screech. Moisture and warmth filled the room inside, as well as humming from a furnace. Three tanks of water lay connected to pipes. Castiel made his way over to one, placing his hand on the metal, only to recoil.

_So that's the hot water. _He thought, and found the next tank to be cold. A bead of sweat was dripping down his forehead by the time he came to the last tank, running his fingers across it and not feeling any particular temperature. Circling to the other side, he found "EMERGENCY" written in big, fading letters.

That had to be the one.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

_"Imagine what would happen if the reserves were filled with holy water, and a fire started." Said Castiel, to the hunter._

_"Yeah, that's nice, I also like to imagine that I'm taller than Sam and married to Kelly Brooke."_

_The man looked at him funnily before digging into the pocket of his dress pants, retrieving a small cross on a beaded string. "Jimmy always carried a rosary."_

_Dean stared at it. And then he stared at Cas. And grinned._

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Asmodeus was busy. Mixing ingredients, setting out candles, it was hard to keep track when you could only hear. Vision was restricted mainly to _that damn bright light _shining above him.

Whatever was happening, it was going down soon. Dean could tell by the hurried manner in which the demon worked. He didn't know how far Cas was in the plan, but he was awfully dry for it to have been a success yet.

"The thing I don't get," started the hunter, trying to buy time. "Is what you're trying to gain with this spell. I mean, you're already more powerful than your average demon. And not bad on the money front, by the looks of this place. What are you after?"

"Immortality, my dear. Everlasting life." Replied Asmodeus while pouring herbs into a bowl. He sounded flippant, like he was explaining what a simple word meant to a small child.

"But y-"

"Not for myself. I have a lover. Sarah. She was made immortal a long time ago, but that spell was temporary. The resources for a permanent one did not exist."

Cas had mentioned Sarah, but he hadn't thought much about it. "Weird for a demon to fall in love with some human chick."

And out of all the taunts and prodding, Asmodeus cracked at this comment. Dean suddenly had a knife slicing deep into his arm and a voice yelling: "YOU DO NOT GET TO TALK ABOUT HER LIKE THAT!"

The hunter hissed, blood running down his arm and dripping sluggishly into the preexistent mess. Asmodeus seemed to notice this, shoving a bowl under the laceration, catching its product. "I love our talks Dean, I really do. You're much more vocal than your stoic soldier." He brought the knife to Dean's lips, resting it just on the verge of breaking the sensitive skin. "But if you so much as disgrace Sarah's name with your filthy mouth, I will cut off your tongue." His voice dropped to a whisper. "And I'll do it with pleasure."

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Castiel withdrew the dagger Dean had given him, stabbing into the top of the tank and driving sideways from the puncture, creating a gap. Jimmy's rosary was taken next and dropped into the gap with a splash. He closed his eyes, summoning the words to the ritual, and began to chant.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Dean closed his eyes, trying to think of something, anything, to distract the demon. There were quite a few incision on his arms already. Nothing he couldn't handle, but too much blood-loss would kill him eventually. Clearly the guy was really touchy about his girlfriend, so asking about her was out of the question.

"So, you uh... you planning to kill me?" Asked Dean. _Well that was lame._

Asmodeus hummed in thought.

He was like a kid with a shiny red crayon and a brand new piece of paper, cutting happily into the man's skin. All of his concentration seemed set on what he was doing, no speech coming unless it was prompted. "Hmmm..." He mused, tracing a vein on Dean's wrist. "You're fun. I don't like you as much as Castiel- too brash, no style. But you're fun." Dean winced as the vein was cut open with the flick of a wrist. "If you don't bleed to death, I'll consider keeping you alive. After all, the bond you two have is adorable. Playing around with it would be fun."

Dean was getting desperate. The only topic Asmodeus had taken a shining to was that of Castiel, but he really didn't want to bring him up again. Not after what the demon had implied.

Two fingers squeezed at a cut, milking it of blood. Watching it ooze into the bowl, Dean snapped.

"I don't understand, why'd you have to do it?"

To his great relief, Asmodeus stopped. "Do what?" He asked, perplexed.

"Turn Cas human. I mean, wouldn't it of been easy to just paint some sigils? Put him on an Enochian leash?"

The demon ran his thumb gently over the blade in thought. "Yes, it would of been. I know many ways I could have detained him, even with his grace."

"So why do a spell that powerful? It doesn't make any sense."

Asmodeus made a show of examining the knife, twisting it so that it flashed and twinkled in the glaring light. "You know, there's a thing about angels..." He murmured softly, as if lost in thought.

"What?"

He snarled. "_I don't LIKE them!" _And then the blade was at Dean's neck.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

The man sighed once the final word of the incantation was spoken. He'd had to go slow, wary of stumbling over a word and ruining everything. But he was certain he'd done it right. The reserves for the sprinklers were now holy water.

There was only one thing left to do now. Castiel took out Dean's lighter, looking for something to burn. Everything around him was stone and metal. Everything, until he found the patch of wall below a leaking pipe. The constant dripping water had eroded through the coating of paint and plaster until bare wood was unearthed. He went to the spot, struggling with the lighter. He'd never used one, but Dean had given him brief instruction, enough so that he had had a flame after a few minutes.

He took it to the wood, watching the fire lap at the lumber, only reject it like a cat given curdled milk. He frowned, touching the planks and finding them damp. Too damp to produce anything but feeble smoke.

Panic flared through him, and he stumbled out of the room, looking frantically up and down the hallway. Nothing. Just damp walls and stone floors. He began opening doors at random, searching for anything combustible. Most of them were locked, and the rest were just empty storage cabinets.

He was so urgent in his questing that he didn't notice the person approaching him until they tapped him on the shoulder.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

_Hurry up Cas. _Pleaded Dean.

Blood had completely filled up the bowl now, but Asmodeus only brought a second one. It was impossible to know exactly how much the spell required, but the demon had seemed a little pessimistic about his chances of survival.

Feeling himself become dizzy, the hunter could see why.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Castiel spun around, face going white with fear. _I came so far, why now, why-_

All thoughts stopped when he recognized Sarah.

He stared. So did she.

And so there they were, two not-really-humans, one in a white dress, the other in black dress pants. Staring at each other with wide eyes and parted lips of surprise.

The girl beckoned for him to follow.

There were many decisions he could of made at this point, from using her as a hostage, to knocking her out and continuing on his own. But really, there was only one. And it was what he did, limping after her as she ghosted around a bend in the hallway.

From somewhere in her dress Sarah procured a key, using it to open the door she'd stopped at. Castiel peered cautiously over her shoulder, seeing a small room with a bed and desk. The girl turned around to face him, eyes falling to his hand. The man followed her gaze, finding she was looking at the lighter.

They exchanged a look then, one that eradicated Castiel's confusion. Because in her eyes was a plea. And in his next action was an answer.

He flicked the lighter on, holding it to the sheets of the bed and watching them catch fire with a roar. It spread quickly, engulfing the bed and soon the desk in inferno.

_BEEP-BEEP-BEEP-BEEP!_

From somewhere an alarm bellowed angrily.

Sarah smiled, because there was fire.

And Castiel smiled too, because down his cheeks ran water. Holy water.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

The first thing Dean noticed was that Asmodeus was screaming. Steam rose from his body in great plumes. And then he realized that the drying blood was washing away, flowing from his skin in watery rivulets.

_Cas did it._ He thought, and then began to chant. "Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica..." He whispered, not wishing to draw attention to himself.

The demon was flailing, trying to escape the water, evidently unaware of where it was coming from.

"...Ergo, draco maledicte et omnis legio diabolica..."

Either Asmodeus heard him or could feel the pull of his soul from his body. He lurched forward towards Dean, hair falling in his face. "_Stop!_" He yelled, shaking the hunter's body. "_Shut up!"_

"... Ut Ecclesiam tuam secura..." Dean kept going, only to have a fist shoved in his mouth, gagging him. The man choked and struggled, biting at the obstruction to no avail. He could hardly breathe, his vision beginning to go white.

And then suddenly Asmodeus was on the floor, and Castiel was on top of him, aiming punch after punch to the demon's face. There was nothing human about the wrath in his eyes. The demon writhed with contact with the holy water, momentarily too out of his mind to defend himself.

"...tibi facias libertate servire, te rogamus..."

He recovered enough to shove Castiel flying across the room.

"...audi nos."

Asmodeus raised his face towards the ceiling and released a torrent of black smoke. And then he was no longer Asmodeus, but some poor, long-ago possessed man, unconscious on the floor.

There was silence but for the tinkling of holy water.

And then, feebly: "Nice weather we're having, Cas."

_A/N: How does everyone feel about bringing dear Gabe into this story?_


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Dear lord, I got enough reviews to float a boat last chapter. Well, enough to float the SS Destiel anyways. Thank you all so much, and sorry I haven't replied them. I hope you believe that they are appreciated and read. No I don't think you understand: I reread them like a girl rereading old chat messages with her boyfriend. You know what, I think that's what all of you lovelies are collectively. My boyfriend. Yes. There's no escaping now. And I'm glad you're comfortable with Gabriel because I sort of was going to put him in anyways. Don't worry though, no Sabriel (nothing against the ship or you shippers of it, I just sail a different sea), but there will be Sam later on. Pretty far later on. Sorry for the delay in this, I'm getting plot details worked out. Next chapter will be sooner. I promised myself I would stop staying up past midnight writing this stuff once school started, but I guess I've given up on my education. I'm too tired to proofread the whole thing so you'll probably find some horrific mistypes.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Leather cuffs split easily in wake of the dagger Castiel wielded.

"You did it." Said Dean, as he was helped up.

"Did you doubt me?" Asked Cas.

"No," He said, waving dismissively as he steadied himself. He swayed from blood-loss, and instantly two fingers were on his forehead. Dean stared at Cas. Cas stared at Dean. And then the brunette realized what he was doing and dropped his hand sheepishly, remembering he could no longer heal. Dean cleared his throat and continued. "I just... he hurt you pretty bad. I didn't know if you'd be able to make it."

"He's hurt you too." Came the response.

And there was no denying that, not with how weak Dean felt. "Come on, we gotta get your grace and get out of here."

Castiel shook his head. "No. Listen."

Dean thought he was going to say something more, but there was only silence. And then Dean heard it. From somewhere in the building, there were screams.

Dozens and dozens of them.

"It's the demons. The holy water is burning them. They'll find a way to shut it off, and we need to be gone by then." Said Castiel.

"It's your grace, Cas! If you got your hands on it you could heal us both, you could smite the shit out of those demons, I mean-"

"_Don't you think I _know_?_" Shouted the man suddenly, startling the hunter. He took a deep breath. "I know." He said quietly, seeming guilty at his outburst. "I know what having my powers restored would do, and I want it more than anything, but it is not an option right now. We need to go."

Dean pursed his lips in indecision. "Fine." He said, after a moment. "We'll come back for it when we have a plan."

Cas looked over at Asmodeus's crumpled vessel. "What of him?"

"The police'll probably show up, he'll go to them. Hopefully Azy's demons will be busy."

It was a bad chance, but they didn't have time to spare.

Dean looked over at Cas, smiling weakly. "Come on buddy," he said. "Let's get out of here."

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Dean could not believe how good it felt to be back with his Baby. He could hear her purring happily down the highway. It'd come as a surprise when the Impala had been parked faithful as always on the grounds outside the mansion. Apparently the demons had driven him there in it after knocking him out. The keys were left in the door, suggesting they did not have a problem with thievery.

And so here he was, blasting down the road, his only goal to get as far away from that place as he could before falling asleep. Cas had already done so, slumped in the passenger seat, body curled as close to the heaters as it could get. Dean had turned them on almost as soon as he started driving, loathing the way Cas trembled, loathing how _broken, _and _human _he'd become. Because of him. Because Dean thought he could get away with just living a happy, normal life.

He should of known better.

Cas was being punished for him not.

And so the heaters were cranked up ridiculously high, knocking out the ex-angel in a matter of minutes. He looked un-pained in his slumber, face free of most wrinkles, but for the tired lines under his eyes.

_Not to mention the fucking _crosses_. _Thought the hunter bitterly.

Asmodeus was twisted, even for a demon. Not as bad as Alistair, but there was something deeply disturbing about the guy. Something deliberate, and bursting with a degenerate affection. Dean didn't know how long Cas had been stuck with him. And he shuddered to imagine.

_But seriously, _crosses? _What the fuck?_

His eyes were on the road as he thought, scenery blurring past. It suddenly occurred to him that it was stupid to be letting his companion sleep. _He got thrown pretty hard when that son of a bitch shoved him, you're not supposed to let people sleep if they get a concussion. Oh god, what if he's already in comma? _Dean could not imagine anything worse right now. He lay a hand on the other man's shoulder, shaking roughly. "Hey, sleeping beauty, wake up!"

Castiel awoke with a gasp. He jerked away from the hand that was shaking him, looking around frantically and hitting his head against the window as a result. This stunned him enough to recognize Dean, staring at him with concern. His panic faded at the sight of the hunter, memories returning in nightmarish clusters. This was the first time he'd woken up from sleep. He'd been unconscious before, and the previous night tired enough that he was more comatose than asleep. But this was different. Disconcerting.

"Easy there tiger." Smirked Dean, but Cas could see only worry in his eyes.

"I apologize, I had not meant to-"

"Dude." Interrupted the hunter, pointedly. "You need the rest." Some seriousness faded from his eyes at his next statement. "Turns out you're out like a light if I crank up the heat. You were curled around the vent like a kitten!"

Castiel was bad at reading people, causing him to stare blatantly at their faces during conversation. But he was pretty sure from Dean's expression that he was expected to be amused. Unfortunately Cas could not see the humor in the situation. His vessel- _no, body-_ seemed to act on it's needs automatically during sleep, and lately it wanted warmth.

"Anyways," coughed the man. "Sorry to wake you, I thought you might of gotten a concussion."

"I am not, to my knowledge, suffering from any cerebral swelling, although your consideration is appreciation."

"Oh. Right." Dean gestured awkwardly. "Well, uh, carry on then."

"I am rested enough for now." Lied Castiel. The thought of sleeping made him feel vulnerable, and waking up from it has thus far been unpleasant. He would rather put it off until absolutely necessary. "Where are we going?"

Dean shrugged. "Away from the badies."

"Does such a place exist?"

"Nah. But a man can try."

"So the demons are not in our pursuit?"

The hunter shook his head. "Probably still reeling from the vacancy in their boss office."

"That is probable." Agreed Cas, and the two of them were silent. Dean had his eyes on the road, the had his out the window. They seemed to be in a rural area, farms passing by in blurs of gold and green. "Asmodeus took a lot of blood." Commented Cas, finally. "Was his spell completed?"

"No, he still needed more. He talked about it. Some immortality spell for his girlfriend. Guess he's the possessive type."

"Sarah." Said Cas, sadly. "She's not bad. Just broken."

Dean snorted. "Anyone who has the hots on for that guy is seriously deranged."

"Like I said, broken. But not twisted. She helped me."

"What? When?"

"After I turned the emergency reserves into holy water. I needed something to burn and she showed me a room."

"Why would you trust her?" Spluttered Dean, seeming disgusted at the thought.

"She's not a demon, Dean. She's a girl who's spent the past two thousand years with a sociopath."

Dean considered this. "Well, that doesn't explain what she wanted with a fire. It's not like it was ever going to burn the place down completely."

"Maybe she thought it would. Maybe she sympathized with me. Maybe she's simply insane, I don't know. But we're alive."

"He was going to keep you alive. Me too, if I didn't bleed out. Guess I should be kissing Sarah's feet, crazy or not."

When Castiel didn't respond, the hunter changed the subject. "So how long were you there?" He questioned, voice lacking it's usual bravado, almost tentative.

"In captivity? Not long. A day, maybe two. It was difficult to keep track."

Dean seemed uncomfortable about something, face unreadable, rubbing at the back of his neck. "Did he uh... did he... touch you? Uncomfortably, I mean?"

Cas frowned, confused. "Well... yes. He interrogated me rather brutally."

"No, not that... er..." Dean looked like he wanted to crawl out of his skin. "Fuck it." He took a breath. "Were you raped?"

Cas's brow furrowed further. "No."

A beat.

"Oh." Another pause. "Uh... cool." Dean was blushing for some reason. "It's just, he sort of implied something and I didn't know if..."

And now the ex-angel was feeling uncomfortable too. "I'm fine, Dean." He said, stiffly. "Thank you."

"Yeah... uh, sure."

The following silence was one of the most awkward in Dean's life.

Not the absolute most (there was still that ride home with Ellen and Jo to consider), but definitely in the top five.

Dean was not the best with feelings. He didn't know how to be sensitive, wouldn't even try usually, but the guilt was making him do weird things. And act like a fucking dimwit. '_Cool'? Seriously? You say 'cool'?_

But what was he supposed to say?

How were you supposed to ask someone if they'd been raped?

Especially if it was your fault.

And if that someone happened to be the biggest virgin you'd ever met.

Seriously, if you looked up "celibate", there'd be a picture of the guy's face. You'd think being older than the Earth would make you a little less innocent. But he wasn't, and that made Dean all the more grateful than Asmodeus has apparently been lying. Because however awkward it was to ask, he would have no idea what to say if there really had been violation. The bullcrap he used to get information out of trauma victims, it wouldn't work on Cas. He knew that much. Actually, that was all he knew.

They didn't speak for a while after that.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

_Freaking Ohio. _Thought Dean, as he had to slow down to avoid hitting a horse-and-buggy. The Amish population was particularly robust in the southern areas. He'd worked cases in the state multiple times, but the buggies always freaked him out.

They'd been driving for an hour now, with little conversation. Cas spent the majority of the time staring out the window, looking weary. Pained. Generally desolate. But he didn't complain, and Dean didn't know what to say to console him. So he did what he could, turning up the heat even farther and keeping off the radio in the probable case that the man had a headache.

The sun was setting, and he decided it was time they retire for the night. If anyone had followed them this far, well, they could just get ready to step in horse shit. Cause Dean was sleeping in Amish country tonight. He pulled over completely, taking out a map of the county and studying it. There weren't any motel chains he recognized, but quite a few hostels run by the locals were dotted in their vicinity.

He was trying to decide between _Golden-Wheat Inn _and _Sunny Acres Bed-n-Breakfast _when he heard a noise from Cas's direction. A growl of the stomach.

"Dude... when was the last time you ate?" He asked, looking up from the map.

Castiel looked at him, face blank. "About... February 14th. Why?"

Dean adopted a horrified expression. "That was half a year ago! Your stomach just growled."

"Is that what that was? My vessel doesn't need sustenance while being inhabited, that was purely due to the influence of Famine."

"Well you sure as hell do now. How are you even functioning? Shouldn't you be in a coma or something?"

"I... do feel weak, but it is difficult to say from what."

"You need to eat! Too bad we're in freaking Amish country, I'd find a good old greasy burger joint for us. But everything around here is _organic_, and... uh..." Dean coughed, gesturing vaguely towards Castiel.

"What?"

"Well... I don't think you're in any shape to exactly be sitting down at a restaurant."

"Oh. Yes. My face..."

"Don't worry man, I'll get us something once we find somewhere to stay." Promised Dean. "Now what sounds less tacky, 'Sunny Acres in Bed-n-Breakfast' or_ '_Golden-Wheat Inn?'"

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Castiel sat stiffly on one of the twin beds, perhaps taking Dean's instructions of "sit tight" too literally. The hunter had left in hunt of food after checking them into the inn, leaving Cas alone in their room. There was no television, or anything of interest to him. Nothing but his thoughts.

They'd drifted during the car ride, from worries about Heaven to musings on Dean to simply trying to process the events of the past two days. It wasn't easy. His head was as messed up as his body, confused and aching. Castiel expected it had to do with how much information it was being forced to contain. He knew more about the universe than any human was supposed to process, and while in theory the brain had an infinite capacity, it was not supposed to have this much thrust upon it at once. He wondered if he would begin to loose memory. It was an unsettling thought.

"Well, sorry bud, but all they've got around here- woah, hey, you okay?" Dean's voice had suddenly blasted through Castiel's thoughts, causing him to jump. He looked up, seeing the hunter had come in without him hearing, bearing two bags of groceries.

"Didn't mean to scare you." Apologized Dean, setting down the plastic bags on the single table and emptying them.

Cas realized he must of looked startled. "I'm fine."

"No you're not, come over here and get something to eat before you pass out. Sorry, they only have boring farm-fresh stuff at the stores. But I bet the apple pie is damn good." Dean rambled about apples being best right now at the peak of harvest, while Cas walked over to the table and hesitantly seated himself.

The hunter thrust a stick of something at him and smirked when it was picked up uncertainly. "Buffalo jerky, Cas. It's good. Try it."

Cas did so, biting into the stick and chewing. It was tough but had a nice flavor, similar to that of burgers. While Jimmy was no longer in his body to sway his tastes, Castiel retained a preference to the meat. Dean was studying his every facial feature, waiting for a reaction, and so he graced him with one. "It had a pleasant flavor."

Dean grinned like a dog getting praised for retrieving a tennis ball. Something about that warmed Castiel to no end, and he decided to humor the man, swallowing and taking a second bite. As he did so something stirred in his stomach and all at once he no longer was pleasing Dean, he was _ravenous_, and tore into the jerky with enthusiasm. The stick was gone in a matter of seconds and he grabbed another, starting on it, nose crinkling like a tiger as he chewed. Some irrational part of his brain fretted that he had somehow been possessed by Famine again, that was the only experience he had to compare this feeling to. But the hunger overrode it. It was five sticks in that Dean's amusement turned to concern.

"Slow down there man, you're gonna be sick."

Cas ignored him, reaching for more meat, only to find that Dean had eaten the last himself. His eyes narrowed. "Where are the other comestibles?" He growled.

"Uhh... here." Dean found a can of peaches, popping it open and handing it to him with a plastic fork. Cas started in on it without hesitation, shoveling as much as the fruit into his mouth as he could swallow. As fast as he was eating, he savored _everything, _the carbohydrates, the blessed _glucose _half-crystalized around the edges of the can, the vitamins of the saccharine flesh. He craved it all. He could tell that it was fresh from harvest just weeks ago at the end of summer, he could _taste _the sunshine of the orchard, the-

He stopped mid-chew.

There was another feeling now, and it definitely wasn't hunger.

Dean seemed to recognize it in his expression and groaned, burying his face in his hands.

And then Cas was in the bathroom in double time, bent over the toilet and heaving.

He looked down and half of what he'd just consumed lay mingled with latrine water. The sight made him vomit again. He groaned and spit several times, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, appalled by how unpleasant that had been.

"You okay in there?" Called a voice from the main room, sounding more amused than worried. Castiel ignored him, rinsing out his mouth and vowing never to eat again. His stomach roiled vehemently against the food, and he lay propped up on two arms over the sink for several minutes, panting and trying to quell the nausea. When he finally trod back into the room he was met with a smug-looking Dean.

"I don't wanna say I told you so, but..." The hunter smiled. "I totally told you so."

Castiel glared and reseated himself. looking pointedly away from the food. Dean had been kind enough to dispose of the remaining peaches. "It seems that my body is unused to processing so much food at once."

"Makes sense, seeing it's barely been fed in years."

"Yes. That was exceedingly unpleasant. I request you never allow me to eat again."

"Don't be melodramatic. you'll feel hungry again in the morning." Dean grinned, but then his features contorted in trepidation. "Dude... did you get puke on my jacket?"

The corner of Cas's lip quirked upwards almost undetectable. "No, Dean, I believe I spared the coat." And then a thought struck him that erased the little simper. "But it might be otherwise stained."

"With what?" Frowned Dean.

"Blood." He answered guiltily. He knew the jacket was of sentimental value to the hunter.

"Right." Responded Dean. He looked a little sick himself. "Well don't worry about it, not like it hasn't been bled on before. I'm a Winchester, after all."

"Of course."

Dean's amusement from Cas's debacle into the world of cuisine was robbed from him as he realized that he could no longer avoid the subject of Cas's injuries. He'd bled enough to indeed be visible on the leather jacket, and definitely had a limp. The Winchester hadn't really been paying attention to it while they were escaping from the mansion, but it was hard to ignore now. "By the way Cas," he started, mentally sighing as he did so. He had wanted to put off facing the guilt, but his friend was hurt and could be at risk of infection from his selfishness. "What's with the limp? You don't have a fracture do you?"

Cas shook his head from where he was sitting across the table. "No. It's my left foot."

"What's wrong with it?"

"It's blistered."

Dean's brow furrowed. "From walking barefoot?" Cas had been shoeless all day, the articles abandoned wherever Asmodeus had put them in the mansion. But it wasn't like they'd walked anywhere for very long.

"From Asmodeus."

_Ah. _Dean swallowed. Here it came. "What did he do to you, exactly?"

Castiel looked away, evidently not much more comfortable with the situation than Dean was. "A variety of things. He was very keen on getting information. Whatever this immortality spell for Sarah was, it meant a lot to him."

"I mean, what do I have to to fix?" Asked Dean bluntly.

"Nothing. It is not your responsibility to mend me, I will heal on my own." Responded the man with equal bluntness.

"Dammit Cas, you don't have your grace anymore! You can't just heal yourself up in the blink of an eye. It's _me_ who got you hurt and it's _me_ who's gonna fix you!" Barked the hunter, angry without knowing why. "Now tell me where you're hurt!"

To his mild surprise, Cas seemed to wilt. "Okay." He said quietly, and it was unlike him to give in when his charge got huffy. But he obliged, unzipping the leather jacket to reveal an abundance of cuts and sometimes blistered burns. He shrugged it off entirely, folding it on the table.

He looked at Dean and there was no other way to describe his eyes but _shadowed_, in a figurative but intense way. "Forty seven cuts, eight of them not scabbed enough to completely stop bleeding. Two dozen burns to my midsection and one to my foot. The lacerations are concentrated on my torso but were also inflicted upon my arms, neck, and face. The deepest were cauterized to keep me alive." He said in a monotone. Emotionless, a soldier recounting the losses of a battle. He splayed his fingers on the tabletop, displaying wounds Dean hadn't noticed before. "Three fingernails torn from the bed, two blackened from being pried. Cuticles undamaged, they will grow back. My grace is gone, I am alienated from my brothers, and my body is reeling from trying to adapt an angel into human soma. I am unable to heal myself, and more importantly unable to heal you. " Castiel leaned forward, eyes blazing through their deadness like embers still dangerous to touch. "So go ahead Dean. _Fix me._"

_A/N: I'm trying to make the charries deal with this semi-realistically. Well. It is a fanfiction. So maybe like a sixteenth realistically. Cas being tortured and traumatized is a big deal in my opinion, and even ~*the power of gay love*~ can't fix everything at once, so there will be angst and problems, but as always, I do promise fluff and and resolution. Also, I didn't imagine Dean would know what to do regarding the subject of rape, especially with Cas, so I wrote that in. Speaking of which, I never put in any trigger warnings or disclaimers, but I think it's important to say that if you were ever a victim of violence or abuse, you have all my respect and I'm not condoning it at all with this story. I just have a sick mind that I might as well take out on fictional characters rather than become a serial killer. :) _


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: This chapter is short so that I could get it to you faster. Next one'll be up Saturday-ish. Promise.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Dean blinked.

Dead silence followed Castiel's recount.

It took a moment to wrestle all the shock and guilt into something manageable, and then he swallowed and said, quietly:

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Okay. I will. I'll fix you."

Cas sighed, seeming deflated. They both were; two men who bore the weight of the world on their shoulders with alarming frequency.

The hunter went to his bag, withdrawing the first aid kit. He had briefly considered taking Cas to a hospital when they'd first escaped. But that was a little out of the question, both because there was the possibility that they were being pursued and because Dean did not have his fake IDs in order. Life with Lisa hadn't exactly called for much credit-card scamming. And he didn't know how he'd even begin to account for the fallen angel.

So the first aid kit it was. His medical supplies were dated and sparse. Most dipped into were the bandages, which sort of sucked because that's what they ideally needed the most. At least there was plenty of aloe vera (sunburns weren't exactly number one on the list of threats to the Winchesters) and the rubbing alcohol seemed to have been replenished recently. A few pills remained in a bottle of painkillers, as well as fewer antibiotics.

Dean sucked in a breath. "Right. Is anything badly infected?"

"No."

"Alright. I'll disinfect the cuts with rubbing alcohol, if any of them get really bad, there's some antibiotics. Oh, and take these." He filled up a glass of water and handed it to Cas with two pills.

"What are they?" Asked the man, regarding the tablets.

"Painkillers. They'll make you feel better. Go easy on the water though, you might throw up again."

Cas popped the pills into his mouth, downing them with a sip of water. After a minute he commented: "I feel no effect."

"Give 'em fifteen minutes." Dean told him, getting out some cotton swabs and uncorking the alcohol. He pulled his chair over to Cas's, and scooted him around so that they were facing each other.

Cas hadn't been exaggerating about his wounds. Dean had spent his life grappling with the foulest monsters and examining the most brutally murdered bodies. So it wasn't the physical sight that made him want to run away, but the emotional consequence. The feeling that every marred and beaten patch of flesh was his fault.

He noticed in particular a row of crosses across the man's chest, mimicking the designs on his face. They were on a bigger scale in terms of both length and depth, and for some reason Dean decided to start with them. "This might sting." He warned, lifting a drenched swab.

And it did. He could tell by the way Cas winced and then hissed as Dean dabbed at the worst of the incisions with the sterilizing liquid.

It was weird.

Everything was weird.

From the fact that he was tending to another person's wounds like he hadn't since Sam was little, to the detail that he was sitting in a room with a shirtless ex-angel. He'd never imagined what Cas looked like under all those layers. Turns out he was pretty slim, but with a wiry tension that hinted at some strength.

Dean had just enough bandages for the eight still-bleeding slashes the man had counted. It was disturbing, the way Cas knew every single one of his injuries, and the dead tone in which he'd recited each one. It filled him with dread, thinking not only of the wounds themselves, but the fact that Castiel had sat there and taken stock of each one like a robot, probably alone in the dark.

Dean was treating a particularly deep wound when he saw the man's lean muscles flex and flinch instinctively away from the burn of rubbing alcohol.

"I'm sorry."

The apology came unbidden from his mouth, with stronger meaning behind it than the words could every convey.

It fixed nothing.

Not the cuts. Not the burns. Least of all the sense of failure for his friend that rested within his sternum.

But the words needed to be said.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Castiel felt bad.

Physically, from the burn of disinfectants.

And bad for his outburst.

He could feel guilt wafting from Dean.

It was apparent in each stroke of cotton, in the way his face grew tight when it looked upon the nastier wounds, and all but grimaced when Cas hissed. After the hunter even tried to apologize, Cas made sure to keep his pained reactions to a minimum.

Ten minutes later, he didn't need to try very hard.

By the time Dean was securing the last bandage, he felt fine.

Great.

Better than he ever had since becoming human.

"Thank you for helping me." _For coming for me, for not leaving me in the dark. _"I feel better."

"Seriously?"

"Much better." He didn't mention that it was almost certainly due to the painkillers he'd been given.

"You don't have to humor me, Cas."

"If I wanted to humor you, I would pretend to have an interest in your much-esteemed Led Zeppelin." Said Cas, voice dry as ever, but something in the tone was teasing lightly.

"You son of a bitch." Grinned Dean. The two men sat for a moment, just smiling at each other, Cas more with his eyes as always. The easy atmosphere from before seemed to have been restored, much to Castiel's relief.

He resolved never to mention what Asmodeus had done again, unless absolutely necessary. The distress it caused Dean was not tolerable. With the pain gone he felt affection for the hunter, a gratefulness and an urge to repay him. To get better and help his charge however he could. He wanted to learn how to be human. And for Dean to teachhim.

The hunter stood from his chair, effectively breaking the moment. "You should get some sleep. We'll hang around here until you're healed some, and then we can go after Azzy's minions. If anyone has your grace, it's them."

Castiel nodded. "You should do the same."

Dean chuckled. "There's only one thing I want right now."

"And what is that?"

"A shower long enough to triple this place's water bill."

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

It was cold when Castiel awoke.

Cold and painful.

And profoundly lacking in Dean's presence.

He sat up, looking around and not seeing the other man anywhere. The bandaged wounds split at the motion and he winced, frowning. He'd felt so... nice last night. Happy. A huge pain lifted from his body.

The feeling had faded now.

Cas sunk back into the linens, noting an extra one had been lain on top of him as he slept. The coldness had

_Thump._

Cas looked up.

The room was still empty, but the noise seemed to come from the entrance.

_Thump. Thump. Thump. _A shiver ran down his spine and he cleared throat. "Dean?"

_THUMP. THUMP. THUMP. _The door rattled angrily and Castiel felt an abrupt, inexplicable, terror flare. _He's coming, he's coming..._

_THUMP, THUMP, THUMP, CRASH! _

The sound of splintering wood filled the room, and he felt so afraid, so very, very afraid because _He's here!_

Silence. Castiel cowered into the sheets, heart racing like a rabbit in a fox den. Footsteps. He shut his eyes. _No, no, this isn't happening... why now when I came so far..._

The click of boots on the ground seemed to come from somewhere above him, drawing closer and closer. For some odd reason he _knew _who the footsteps belonged to, and he wanted desperately to get away.

"I know you're he-ere..." Sing-songed a voice. "Why don't you be a doll an' come on out?"

Every syllable of the southern drawl multiplied Cas's fear until he was in abject hysteria, knuckles white where they clenched the sheets, eyes clmaped shut.

The footsteps came close, so close, until the presence was right next to and he mouthed one last prayer before-

"CAS!"

"Come on, snap out of it!" Dean continued to shake the unresponsive man. Castiel was rigid, face white with terror and muttering something under his breath.

"CAS!" He yelled, and the man's eyes flew open, hands grasping at his arms.

"Dean!" He gasped. "We have to go, we have to run, he-"

"-what the hell are you talking about?"

"He'll get me, he'll bring me back!"

"Who? Asmodeus?"

"No! I..." He paused, fear beginning to fade from his eyes and leaving behind confusion. "I don't remember. Dean, there was a man in this room."

"What, just now?"

"Yes. He smashed through the door, he was looking for me."

Dean looked over in the direction of the entryway.

It was standing just as it had been when the hunter came through it only to find the other huddled like a child. Cas followed his gaze and seemed only more confused. "But... I heard..."

Suddenly Dean began to laugh.

"I do not understand."

"Dude," He snorted. "You were having a nightmare."

"This was not a nightmare." Cas insisted.

"It was. You're not well, hallucinating, probably one of those cuts is infected. Speaking of which , I picked up some more antibiotics and painkillers. Damn stuff costs more than gold."

Dean launched into a lecture on their financial status as Castiel's strange panic dissipated. He'd only ever walked in dreams before, never had one of his own. Perhaps they were normally that vivid. His friend was more experienced in the matter and probably right. He decided to forget the whole incident.

"...which leaves us at a few hundred bucks. The rest of what I made is with Lisa. So expect to be hustling some pool soon." Was the conclusion.

Cas nodded dutifully.

"Anyways, how are you feeling?"

_Bad. _"Better."

It was true, he did feel better than when they'd first escaped the day before, but not compared to after taking the pills.

"Good. Can you walk?"

"If I could walk yesterday, why would I not be able to walk today?"

"Just checking. I was going to suggest you take a shower. I dunno if angels have some special feature in their mojo, but now that you're a mud-monkey with rest of us you're going to start to smell."

"An inhabited vessel doesn't sweat, grow, or ovulate. Functions like the endocrine and digestive systems are dormant, therefor cleaning isn't often necessary. But a shower sounds agreeable."

"Yeah alright, Bill Nye. Check if anything's infected while you're in there. I bought extra bandages too."

"You mentioned painkillers?"

"Yeah, you need 'em?"

"That would be preferable."

_A/N: "wtf was with cas?" "when is the porn coming?!" All these questions and more will be answered soon! Actually I'll go ahead and tell you that if you want immediate porn go read smutty one-shots, you have to WORK for your porn around here dammit! But the Destiel will come... and it will be glorious. P.S. Triggers for drug abuse in upcoming chapters... _


	11. Chapter 11

When Castiel emerged from the bathroom he looked a dozen times better.

The shadows under his eyes had disappeared, and his face was clean, if not clean-shaven.

_I wonder if he knows how to use a razor. _Thought Dean.

The man looked out of place in Dean's ill-fitting jeans and AC/DC shirt. It was strikingly different from his usual trench-coat, which has been left behind with the demons.

"I see you figured out how to shower."

"I am not a child, Dean. It's a fairly simple concept."

"I dunno, I heard a few thumps from in there."

Castiel flushed, a very human reaction that amused Dean to no end. "I miscalculated the mobility of the soap bar."

"Dude... you dropped the soap?"

"Yes, and slipped over it."

Dean was finding this way too funny. "Word of advice from a felonist- don't drop the soap."

Cas looked befuddled but nodded solemnly none the less. "I'll do my best to avoid it."

The hunter snickered, shaking his head. "Do you want to try and eat some breakfast?"

"No." Rejected Castiel, immediately.

"Oh come on, you have to eat something. You won't puke again unless you binge."

"I'm not hungry." He insisted, still disgusted from his previous attempt at consumption.

"Yes you are, you don't even know what hungry feels like. Come on, some of this organic shit is actually pretty good." The words came out of Dean's mouth before he could stop them. _Sam would be having a field day right now. _He thought, and a sharp pang of sadness tugged at his chest.

Cas noticed the hunter looked down, lost in some melancholy thought and decided to humor him. "Very well. But under one condition."

Dean looked up. "Yeah?"

"No peaches."

_A/N: Some things happened in real life. Sorry, but this measly 300 words is all I had time for. I am leaving for a funeral this morning and will not be back until Thursday. I'm not sure how much writing I'll be able to get done between now and then, as I am in low spirits regarding the funeral and feeling pessimistic again about the interest in this story. But for you Collective Boyfriend, I will try. _


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: *AC/DC's Back in Black gradually growing louder in the distance* I'm back a day early! I don't know how to begin thanking you all for the kind words. They really helped, and I'm grieving but feeling much better. I can't apologize enough for last weekend's short chapter and angsty author's note, but I'll begin with this good 3,000 words to make up for it.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

For Castiel, the next few days were happy.

He spent much of the time asleep, cocooned in every blanket he could get his hands on.

Dean had commented that he shared resemblance with a caterpillar.

Cas had disagreed.

His body was healing quickly in thanks to the extra sleep, but he knew it'd be scarred permanently. He was fond of his vessel, but it wasn't vanity that caused discomfort at this fact. It was the reminder. The thought that until he retrieved his grace, every glance in a mirror would trigger memories of being agonized and alone.

Dean companion seemed to muse on this too.

The evidence manifested in his face, a slight drawing of the lips and brow, an agitated twitch of the fingers when Dean changed his bandages. It was the way his eyes would go a little dark and distant when Castiel winced getting out of bed.

Overall, however, the hunter seemed to enjoy taking care of Cas. This came as a surprise. Dean did not exactly give off the vibes of the patient, touchy-feely type. Cas had expected that after the initial disinfection he would be left to himself.

But Dean tended to him eagerly, helping him with bandages, coaxing him to eat. He'd even gone to the staff and requested more covers, or so Castiel was assuming by the massive influx of blankets he found himself with. It was strange to him, almost a little coddling.

But it was becoming clear that Dean needed it. He needed to play the caretaker, the healer. It had to do with the guilt, Cas knew that much. But it was something more too. Dean missed Sam. He missed being relied on, looked up to, the protector. He missed being the big brother, and that was not an option anymore. But he could be the provider, and he would, because he didn't know what else to do.

They hadn't discussed the events of the apocalypse yet. Cas knew his friend was grieving. Of course mostly charismatic and repressive as always. But sometimes he would stare into the distance, guard let down, and there was such a sadness in his eyes.

So Castiel did not protest whatever over-attentiveness was directed at him. Dean treated him with fragility, as if he were a highly breakable good. Not overtly- he was too proud and too _Dean_ for that, but it was evident in the little things. Odd things he would insist upon, overabundant favors and concerns. It was strange to him, as a soldier of heaven. He'd never been on the receiving end of anything like it. Initially he'd been uncomfortable with the doting, but once he realized that Dean needed it it to cope, he had begun to accept and even enjoy it. With his connection the to Host broken, he found himself taking a surprising relishment in any contact- from the mutual amiability he felt flowing between them sometimes, to the physical touch of Dean applying bandages and it's emotional impact.

Emotions.

Those were another difficult thing.

They were unpredictable at the best of times, and infuriating at best.

He'd felt them before. Anger at sinners. Love for his father. Things had become a little more complicated with the involvement of the Winchesters- enthrallment and frequent annoyance with Dean, an initial repulsion by Sam. Eventually all of these had turned into a fond admiration and loyalty towards both of them. But his sentiments always ran higher with Dean, ranging from affection to abject rage. There had been a complicated mix of them during Anna's fall from Heaven, and succinct betrayal when he'd discovered Heaven's corruption. One of the strongest feelings was after he accepted God had abandoned them. He'd felt such bitterness, such despair then.

But all of this paled in comparison to how strongly he felt now. Like with physical sensation, his emotions were a hundred times more intense, and harder to manage. He was annoyed over the smallest details, thrilled over little things and then sad for hours over less. He remembered the deep misery he'd experienced while still imprisoned, the selfish bitterness over being abandoned. To his horror that feeling, that inexplicable desire for Dean to care about him, resided and was sated whenever Dean expressed his concern.

Castiel was appalled with himself, and did the best to ignore it. But it was there. A buried but still thrilling little tug of contentment whenever Dean asked if he felt better, or needed another pill. Some horrid, human, corner of him- the same one which that secretly hoped Dean would come for him- whispering "I was right."

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

"So I was driving yesterday, and I found a burger joint a few miles off." Stated Dean.

"And?"

"And I was thinking we should go there tomorrow."

"Are you sure that's wise?"

"Well, you're eating now aren't you?"

Castiel was eating. After three days, his digestive track was beginning to return to normal, remembering how to deal with food. Cereal, though, was something he would never learn to deal with. Dean had been horrified yesterday to discover the man eating it without milk, launching into a lecture on the proper consumption of breakfast foods like it was canonical lore.

_ "Rule number one of being a human Cas, cereal goes with milk!"_

_ "I thought rule number one was not to listen to any music made after the year nineteen-eighty."_

_ "No, that's rule number two."_

_ "What about 'don't drop the soap'?"_

_ "That's only if we end up in prison, which is unlikely since I haven't stolen any credit cards lately."_

_ "But y-"_

_ "No buts, cereal goes with milk. No exceptions."_

So here he was, drenching grain-based flakes in dairy when it would of made more sense to just have a glass of milk on the side, and trying to explain to Dean why going out to dine was a bad idea.

"It's not my ability to eat I am concerned about. Will we not draw attention to ourselves?"

"What, do you mean the crosses? They're just faint lines now. You have to peer to see em, which won't be an issue unless you decide to do your weird staring thing."

"I mean you."

The incisions spanning Dean's arms were deeper than most of Cas's, and made over places that would bleed the most. They had been made not to hurt, but to kill- slowly. The hunter mostly ignored them after making sure they weren't infected, walking around in a t-shirt as if they didn't exist. But Castiel was very aware of them, and so would the general public be.

"Whatever man, I'll throw on a jacket. Come on, it'll be fun. You love burgers."

"Jimmy loved burgers."

"Please, you wolf down buffalo jerky like a dog. You're a meat-eater, just like me."

"I suppose I do have some residual carnivorous tendencies."

"Awesome then, we'll be eating hamburgers tomorrow night."

"Very well."

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Dean was right.

Hamburgers were delicious.

There was something impeccable in the combination of flavors.

"I must confess, you were correct in insisting upon this venture." Admitted Cas.

His friend smirked and stretched from his chair at the dinner satisfactorily. "I'm always correct."

"I can recall a few incidents in which you were not."

The smirk didn't waver. "That's because your memory is going wonky."

"I told you, I'm not certain of that." Castiel emended, glaring at Dean. He didn't like the thought of losing valuable knowledge. Information was all he had to offer, with his powers gone.

More seriously, Dean asked: "Have you noticed yourself blanking out at all?"

"No. I believe this body's brain will adapt to the extra information, given time."

"Let's hope." He dug into Cas's fries, having finished his own food fifteen minutes ago.

"You have the appetite of a adolescent male." Commented Cas, amused.

"I'm a warrior! I need my calories."

"That is clear."

They'd arrived at the little restaurant half an hour before, both hungry and highly anticipating the change from boring organic produce. But Castiel knew it wasn't just appetite that spurred Dean's insistence to go there. The hunter was restless. It'd been four days since they'd arrived and hedidn't like to stay in one place. Cas's limp was all but gone and while the cuts were still pretty bad, he could heal on the road. Dean wouldn't outright ask to leave yet, but he knew it was coming. Castiel could tell in the way the man drummed his fingers endlessly against the wall of their room, in how exuberant he'd been in the car ride to the diner, happy to be on the move.

"When are you going to be finished?" Grumped Dean, reaching in for another handful of french fries.

Cas studied his burger, which still had a quarter left. "Ten minutes, perhaps."

The other man groaned in response. "Old Cas would of eaten seven of those by now."

"If by 'Old Cas' you mean when I was possessed by one of the Horsemen, your statement is incorrect. I would of eaten around twenty."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Well hurry up, the waitresses around here are boring."

Castiel had watched his friend attempt to coquette their server relentlessly, but complained she brushed him off each time. Cas didn't see how. The waitress seemed friendly enough, smiling amiably while he stumbled through his order. "I'm not going to finish eating."

"Awesome." Dean took his plate without hesitation, diving in on what hadn't been consumed. Again, Castiel marveled at his appetite. The burger and fries vanished in the space of two minutes.

"Can I get you the check, sweetie?" Came a sugary voice, and Cas ducked his head, assuming the newly appeared waitress was speaking to his companion. It was wordlessly agreed that Dean was in charge of social interactions.

When no further dialogue was spoken, Castiel looked up and discovered the woman was addressing him. "Uhh..." He floundered, surprised, and glanced at Dean. His friend seemed sour about something, refusing to make eye contact. Cas realized he was on his own, and swallowed. "Yes, please."

She smiled, ruby-lipstick lips curving upwards kindly. "I'll get that right away. Was your meal okay?"

"It was exceedingly palatable." Said Cas a little stiffly, and for some reason she giggled.

"You're funny."

"Thank you." He replied. Her behavior was confusing, but amicable.

"I'll go get that check." She winked, and walked off with a sway in her hips.

"That woman is kind." Commented Cas. "But I wonder why she winked."

Dean buried his face in his hands, muttering: "Dude..."

"To my understanding a wink is an acknowledgement of a secret shared between two individuals. It's odd then that she would do so when I've never met her before."

The hunter groaned. "Are you kidding me?"

"No."

"She was flirting with you."

Cas frowned. "How so?"

"Dude, it was written all over!" Dean spluttered. "From her sickening little nick names to her tacky red lipstick!"

"It is common for adult or adolescent women to wear cosmetics."

"Even you can't be that oblivious, she was throwing herself r-" The statement cut off abruptly as the woman returned, bearing the check in her hand.

"Here you are, hon."

"Thank you."

She giggled once more. "You're a gentleman, but so shy!" Castiel opened his mouth to respond but couldn't think of anything to say to that. After an awkward second she continued. "Don't worry though, it's cute. Anything else I can get you?" She enquired sweetly.

"No thanks, sweetheart." Interjected Dean, in a tone that even Castiel could identify as sarcasm. The waitress seemed a little stung, putting down the check and leaving without another word.

"That was rude." Commented Cas neutrally, as the hunter dug bitterly into his wallet.

"That was necessary. She was about to crawl into your pants."

The brunette frowned at this imagery. "I think you're being somewhat paranoid Dean, even if-"

He was cut off by a loud: "Aha!"

The underside of the bill was suddenly shoved in his face. On it was a post-it note with a number scrawled alongside a little cartoon flower.

"Proof!" Shouted Dean.

Castiel was staring confusedly at the digits. "I do not understand."

"It's her number! She might as well of put up a 'vacancy' sign up over her bed!"

A blank stare.

"Jesus, do I have to spell it out for you? Sex, Cas! She wanted you to call her so you could have sex!"

A slightly dropped jaw.

"Oh."

"Yeah!"

"So when she..."

"Yeah!"

The walk out to the car was spent in silence, Dean fuming and Cas trying to piece together the odd puzzle that was human customs. He was dumbfounded, and a little embarrassed by his ignorance during the interaction. But it did not explain Dean's anger. He mused on this, gathering up the courage to ask while Dean put his keys in the ignition. "So you're jealous because she was courting me and ignoring you?"

The hunter snorted as he pulled out of the parking lot. "'Courting' is a weird way of putting it. And I don't get jealous! I'm Dean Winchester! Girls get jealous when I smile at their friends!"

Castiel realized that his friend's anger was only superficial, and became amused. "You were jealous."

"Fine, maybe a little. Guess I've been off the game for too long... have I lost my touch?" Dean sounded comically worried at this prospect. "I mean, if you were a girl, you'd throw yourself at me, right Cas?"

"I am neither female or male."

"Yeah, yeah, 'indifferent to gender' my ass, you're a dude."

"I suppose now that I am affected by this vessel's testosterone levels." In truth he hadn't noticed any effects beyond his new unpredictable emotional state.

"Don't want to hear about it."

They lapsed into comfortable silence for a few minutes, and then Dean muttered something so quietly that Cas could barely hear it.

"Must be your goddam hair."

"What?"

"Your hair!" Exclaimed Dean. "It's all..." He gestured in a wild, vague motion. "Like that! Girls love it. It's not fair."

Castiel touched his hair self-consciously. The previous inhabitant of this body had kept it combed neatly down, but he had put forth no such measures. "The waitress's attractions towards me offends you?"

"It's just a blow to the ego, that's all. I mean, come on. Maybe if I were sitting next to Brad Pitt or something, but she seriously chose you over me?"

Cas processed this. "You're implying I'm unattractive?"

"No!" Shouted Dean, and then paused, seeming sheepish over his response. "It's just, I'm supposed to be the lady's man. And you're supposed to be the chess club guy. You couldn't get laid at a brothel for Christ's sake!"

Cas got the impression he was supposed to be ashamed. "Sorry?" He said, uncertainly.

Dean looked over at him and suddenly laughed. The ex-angel wasn't exactly sure why, but he could see affection in his eyes, and that was enough. "Nah, don't worry about it. You got a girl's number in less than ten words. Good for you, man. I'm just grouchy because living with Lisa sort of meant getting laid every night. Guess I'm going through withdrawal."

This information was perhaps a little unnecessary for Castiel, but it sparked questions he'd been meaning to ask. "Lisa was the woman you were living with, correct?"

The hunter's eyes grew a little distant, not having meant to bring her up. "Yeah."

"Does... does she know where you are?" Inquired Cas, tone somewhat precarious. Their discussions had never swayed into this area, and he didn't want to upset his companion seriously.

Dean looked down. He did not want to have this conversation, but it needed to be had. "She knows. I'm gone for something important. She was there when I got the text. You don't exactly shatter a bottle of maple syrup over a business call."

Cas processed this ins silence. The horrible part in him felt a wave of warmth that Dean might react so strongly to his imprisonment. "But she does not know what it is? Where you are?"

"No. She doesn't even know who you are. I didn't really have the time to explain."

"Thank you." He suddenly said. He'd said the words to him before, but a thousand repetitions couldn't convey their full magnitude.

"For the meal? Thank me by learning to count cards." Evaded Dean.

"No." Insisted Castiel, sternly. "For saving me. You had a life, and you put it aside."

The hunter shifted uncomfortably. "Don't thank me Cas. Please don't. I've got so much I owe you for. You pulled me from Hell, man."

He scratched at the back of his neck before continuing. "Truth is, I can't stay with Lisa. If I do she'll just end up as another footnote in the Tragic Losses of Dean Winchester. Her and Ben. Yeah, flirting with other women is just being a douche bag, but kids, a house, apple pie?" Quietly he added: "Happiness? That stuff isn't for me. Sammy, maybe. And I tried it for him. But I belong on the road."

It was the most Dean had admit about himself in a long time. They both sat in silence for a minute, the ramifications of the words sinking in.

And then Cas was staring at the other man, in the long, socially unacceptable way that he normally would of been reprimanded for. But somehow that didn't seem relevant right now.

"Dean." He said, and the hunter took his gaze off the road to meet the intense stare of his friend.

"You deserve to be happy."

And the statement was so sincere that just in that moment, Dean believed it.

_A/N: You know what really helps to make you happy when you're sad? Homerotic fluff. Yup. I love Sam and Dean and Cas and Destiel and I love you guys and I love that I found a place that I can write about what I love to people who I love because they love the same thing that I love and LET'S ALL JUST HAVE A GROUP HUG! _


	13. Chapter 13

A/N: Fun Fact: Asmodeus looks sort of like Ben Barnes. If you are attracted to men and wondering whether or not it's worth it to google him... yes. Yes it is. You can thank me later.

Triggers for real in this chapter!

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

"Cas?" Asked Dean, on their fifth day in the motel room.

The man looked up from where he was sitting at the table, reading 'Paradise Lost'.

Dean was kneeled over his companion's bed, displaying a pillow and a furrowed brow. "What's this?"

Castiel studied the pillow and frowned when he saw two black stains on either side of it. "I don't know."

"Well it's your pillow, did you spill something?"

"I don't eat in bed."

"Huh." Grunted the hunter, dropping the pillow and standing up. "Must be the damn motel, giving us dirty sheets. We should get out of here."

_ Oh. _So there it was. Dean had finally voiced his desir. Cas nodded. "I will start to pack. Do you have any plans regarding our destination?"

"Woah, woah, woah..." Dean pulled out a chair and sat down, looking at Cas with surprise. "I didn't mean now!"

"But the sheets..."

"I don't give a damn about the sheets! You're staying here until you get better."

"Dean, it may be months until I am completely healed. It would make more sense if we began our pursuit of the demons sooner rather than later. Do you have any leads?"

There came a sigh. "Yeah, a few odd reports, but nothing definite. It'll slow down your healing if you're off on wild goose chases."

"I am fine, I feel substantially better than when we first arrived and I can continue to recuperate while we drive. In the meantime you look like a caged tiger, pacing around this room. Leaving would be better for you."

"Do you even remember where I've been for the past five months? In _one house_. And I was fine."

"You were with a woman and child you love!" Countered Cas. "I haven't anything to offer you."

Dean paused to give him a dumfounded look. "Okay, one: I was never in love with Lisa. I do love her, and Ben, in a way but- you know why am I even telling you this crap?"

"What is number two?"

"Two, is that you have plenty to offer me!"

Cas scoffed. It wasn't an entirely bitter sound, but there was some acridity to be found in it. "Like what? Knowledge of dead languages? _Attractive hair?" _

_ Jeez. _Thought Dean. He really forgot how sarcastic the guy could be despite his humorless exterior. "Cas, you're my friend." He insisted. "And I don't have too many of those these days. So please, be good to yourself."

The other man seemed to deflate. "Very well. We'll stay here for a small amount longer. And Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"It is an honor to be your friend."

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

_Thump._

Dean half-awoke at the noise.

_Thump-thump._

"Hey Cas, you wanna keep it down?" He mumbled.

_Thump-thump, thump-THUMP._

"Shut up!" The hunter retorted groggily, and sat up.

The dreary red glow of the alarm clock proclaimed it 3:30 AM.

He groaned again at this information , just as another thumping sound occurred.

"Jesus Castiel, what are you even doing? It's three in the morning!" He cast a glare in his roommate's direction.

Castiel was fast asleep in his cocoon of blankets.

_Thump-thump._

_Okay, well that's weird. _Thought Dean, and stood up to investigate.

_THUMP-THUMP._

The noise came from somewhere below him, which was strange considering they were staying in a one-story tennament.

Dean glanced down at the rug.

And then he got mad.

Really mad.

He shoved his bed so hard it tipped over, he needed to get it out of the way, _out of the way! _In a blind rage he kicked it repeatedly, fingers digging into the flesh of his palm where his fists were clenched. _I'll get her, I'll get her, I'll make her pay, I'm make her suffer! _The thoughts tumbled haphazardly through his head and he emitted a howl of fury, pushing the bed across the floor.

"Dean?"

He turned and saw Cas sitting upright, eyes bleary and puzzled. His rage tripled.

"You." He whispered, and stalked over the other man.

"What's going on?" Castiel's attention flitted between the upturned bed and Dean's trembling fingers. "Are you okay?"

"How can you live with yourself, after what you did to me?" Whispered Dean in a shaky, southern drawl.

Cas yawned. "If this is about the glass I broke during dinner, I told you, I will earn money to cover it's ex-"

"Shut up, whore!" The hunter roared, grasping the other man's throat. "Stop making excuses! You left me!" Cas shut his eyes as he was slammed against the wall. When they reopened, the confusion had turned to fear and he choked, clutching at the hands wrapped around his neck.

His attacker dropped him with something like disgust. Cas coughed hoarsely. "Dean? What are you talking about? Please, you are not making sense!"

"Shut up!" Yelled Dean again, slapping him across the face. "Tell me you're sorry!"

"I don't understand!" Pleaded Cas, and was slapped again.

"Say it!"

"I'm sorry." Came the whimpered response. And it wasn't because Castiel was weak, or obedient under pressure. Because it was Dean. And even now beneath the consternation in his eyes, there lay a deeper sensation. Dean could see it, glimmering where it should of vanished. Trust.

Conviction that Dean would do right.

And it made him even more furious.

"Made me go to all this trouble, playin' hard to get. It ain't RIGHT!" Dean pushed the smaller man back onto the bed, pining his arms over his head, and it was then that he began to struggle. Cas was weaker, but he was not weak. With a fierce twist of his body, he jammed his knee between Dean's legs, causing the man to groan in pain and loosen his grip. His arms wrenched free and he punched Dean in the nose, kicking him away and scrambling desperately from the bed. But Dean was in a healthier condition, and while only a couple of inches taller, there was a brawniness to him that the other did not possess. He grabbed Cas by the leg and yanked him back roughly, crushing his body beneath his own.

"You little bitch!" Yelled Dean, as blood began to trickle from his nose. "I'll fuck you and slit your throat!"

At this Castiel seemed to shut down. He went limp, ceasing to struggle. It was the same way a deer ceased to struggle when caught by a wolf, a chemical going off in it's brain that paralyzed them but muted the pain so they might die an easy death.

Dean ground down angrily, emitting a groan that was anything but pained.

Cas shut his eyes.

All Dean could see was red. He was out of his mind with the urge to scream, to fuck, to _kill_. Lust mixed along his rage like traces of red curling in black paint. He couldn't think, couldn't wonder why, could only feel. And he felt like his veins had been set on fire. He bit savagely into the collarbone on the man beneath him.

The blood pounding in his ears was almost too loud for him to hear the words shakily uttered by the Castiel.

"Dean, please."

A faint plea.

All the fury left Dean as suddenly as it had come.

He gasped and collapsed down, panting and disoriented. "What...?"

He felt a cautious shift beneath him. And he realized he was crushing Cas.

And he was hard.

"Fuck!" Dean scrambled back until he fell off the bed, eyes wide and panicked. "Fuck!" He repeated. "What did I... Cas? What happened?"

"I don't know... you don't remember?" His friend looked pale and extremely shaken.

"No... yes! Yes I do, I was mad, so mad, I wanted to... oh God... Cas, are you okay?"

The other man nodded slowly. "I was confused. I thought I'd done something wrong but-"

"-no!" The hunter interjected. "It wasn't you! It wasn't me either!" Dean put an arm on Castiel's shoulder and he flinched. "I won't hurt you, that wasn't me." He repeated, looking Cas pleadingly in the eye. "You believe me right?"

"Yes. Sorry about your nose."

The hunter touched the mention appendage and found a stream of warm, sticky blood was flowing from it. The faintest trace of a smile played on his lips. "Gee, you can really pack a punch."

"You were becoming increasingly violent. I panicked."

"Yeah, I don't blame you. Why didn't you fight back at first?"

Cas looked away. "I thought it was you."

"Do you really think I would do something like that?"

"Of course not. I trusted you." Said Cas, simply.

"Well you still do right?"

"Do what?"

"Trust me?"

"I do." Said Castiel, solemn as if it were a wedding vow. And then his head canted in confusion, peering concernedly at his friend. "Turn your head."

The hunter did so, looking equally confused. "What?"

"What is that black substance coming from your ears?"

Dean pressed a finger to the side of his head, and withdrew an inky liquid.

He stared at it, lip curled in disgust. "Ectoplasm."

"The substance on my pillow." Cas identified.

"Your nightmare! On our first day here you had a nightmare!"

"I told you that was no nightmare."

"You were right. This is a ghost possession we're dealing with. And one pissed off ghost. They can't just take control of someone like that unless they're seriously angry."

Cas shook his head. "It must be two spirits. Whatever possessed me wasn't angry. It was afraid, incredibly afraid. Probably of whoever possessed you."

"I don't know who these people were, but they had some _serious_ marital problems." Dean commented.

"Marital?"

"Yeah. Yours was a chick. You didn't get that impression?"

"Gender was not of my highest concern at the time." Said Cas. "Why are they here? What do they want?"

Dean shrugged. "Closure. Anger Management Guy raped and killed his girlfriend. I'd say that counts as a violent death."

"How are you sure?"

He swallowed. "I... _he_ wanted to. Really bad. He thought you were her. It was pretty disturbing."

"I am aware." Cas shuddered as he remembered how Dean had forced him down onto the bed. It left him feeling vulnerable and just a bit betrayed, despite his better judgement which firmly reminded him that Dean's actions were not his own.

"Yeah." Dean scratched at back of his neck. "Look I'm really sorry about that... are you okay? I mean really okay?" The words came out lame and un-conveying, like they always did when he tried to be anything more than a heartless dick.

"Yes." Replied the brunette unthinkingly, and then paused to truly consider the question. "I'll be fine. I was simply shaken."

The hunter gave similar responses all the time, and never once had he meant them. So he had a hard time to believe it coming from Cas, not after what had just happened. But it was all he was getting, and hell if Dean was one to press for more touchy-feely information. He changed the subject. "Well, this looks like a simple salt and burn to me. We can ask about any murders in this room tomorrow, I'm going back to sleep."

Cas nodded and stood up, walking over to the table. "You said he raped her and then slit her throat?"

"That was the plan."

He opened Dean's bag and started rifling through it "Do you have a crowbar?"

"Yeah... wait- the hell do you need a crowbar for?"

"Your head."

"Oh. ...in case the dead come a-knocking at my brain again?"

Another nod. "You don't think unconscious bodies can be possessed do you?"

"Let's hope we don't find out."

_A/N: __You lovelies following this without reviewing should come out of the shadows and say hello. Benefits: 1.) You're being a bro 2.) You can be part of my Collective Boyfriend (IT'S NOT CREEPY IT'S COMPLETELY NORMAL WHAT DO YOU MEAN) 3.) If you ever feel like people in real life ignore you at least you know your old internet pal Otex is cherishing and pathetically re-reading your every word. 4.) I'll write faster. 5.) You gain my undying love. 6.) If there's some bitch harassing you in real life, they will be... taken care of. 7.) When I gain universal dictatorship you will not be sent off to a labor camp in Siberia. _  



	14. Chapter 14

A/N: *asks for reviews for motivation to write faster* *gets a lot of reviews* *updates slower than ever* *relatively short chapter when finally updates* Wow I'm really a scumbag. I do feel really bad about it. In my defense I've had a lot of make up work from the school I missed for the funeral, and am at a little stitch in the story where it's hard to write. But I swear, I will never abandon you guys. Even if it takes a week between updates.

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When Dean awoke, he became aware of two things.

One, his erection from last night had faded. This came as a great relief. It would of been weird to deal with that. He'd been possessed plenty before, and having some dead bitch use your body was never fun. But seriously? Getting a hard on for a ghost slash your best friend? That lay pretty high on the spectrum of Not-Cool-Things-For-Spirits-To-Do-While-In-Your-Bo dy.

Number two, he could hear a weird rhythmic noise coming from the direction of the floor.

Dean shot up.

Last time he'd woken up to a weird noise, he'd ended up with an upturned bed and a bloody nose.

For the second time that morning he felt great relief when he saw it was only his roommate. But he was doing something weird.

"Cas?"

Cas stopped moving. He was shirtless, body splayed in a push-up position, head angled to look at him. "Good morning Dean." And then he was moving again, lowering himself up and down on his arms. It was clear he'd been at it for a while. A thin sheen of sweat covered the muscles on his back, and he grunted with exertion- the sound Dean had woken up to.

The hunter rubbed his eyes. "It is too early in the morning for this."

"It is eleven o'clock." Cas supplied, between breaths.

"Damn... I've grown soft." He muttered, and then studied his companion curiously. "So uh... you gonna tell me what you're doing?"

"Exercising." Came the reply, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Dean blinked several times. "What?"

"I said, I'm exercising."

"I know what you said, but seriously.._. what_? You don't exercise. _I _exercise!"

"Well clearly I am." Castiel switched positions, doing curl-ups instead.

"Since when?"

"Since I almost had my throat slit last night."

"Oh." Swallowed Dean. "Fair enough." There was something disturbing about this. Not the fact that Cas wanted to get stronger, but the fact that he wanted to get stronger so he that could fight off Dean.

Cas seemed to sense the hunter's unease. "I'm not afraid of you. When I said that I trusted you, I meant it. The incident last night simply reminded me of how weak humans are. If I am to be one, I might as well take full of advantage of whatever potential for strength they have."

"Well don't strain yourself, you'll reopen the cuts." Warned Dean.

Cas gave him a look that seemed to be the fallen angel equivalent of 'Thanks _mom.'_

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Two showers later they were waiting for the receptionist to get off the phone.

"Uh huh... yes, I understand." The woman looked bored, tapping painted nails disinterestedly on the counter. On her uniform were stitched the letters "SANDY".

Dean cleared his throat and she held up a finger with a tight smile. Right away, he was beginning to get a picture of who he was dealing with. A young, restless woman who wanted to get off her shift and back home as soon as possible without any issues. She would be curt with his questions unless they managed to interest her.

"No, that won't be necessary sir, if you could pleas- sir! Hello?" Sandy sighed and then hung up. Her tired eyes turned to regard the two men in front of her. Cas was in jeans and Dean's leather jacket, which he had taken to wearing anytime they left the warmth of the motel room. Dean himself concealed his wounds with an old jean jacket that he was pretty sure had belonged to his brother. "May I help you?"

_Yikes. _Whoever had been on the other end of the phone had left her even more exasperated. A lifetime of manipulation told Dean he would really need to vamp up the charm if he wanted to capture her patience. "Sure can sweetheart." He answered, with a grin designed to melt an unsuspecting girl's heart into a puddle of goo.

Sandy didn't react. "Do you need more pillows? Is the heater in your room broken?"

_Am I losing my touch or something? _This was the second girl to ignore his charm in two days. _I swear to god if this is Cas and his goddam hair again, I'm putting a bag over his head. _He decided to test if her attention nonexistent or simply being averted. Dean shook his head with a little chuckle. "Oh no, actually, we were looking into the history of this building. You see, my friend James here happens to be a historian with Oxford." He gestured to Cas. Dean had tricked enough girls into sleeping with him to know that the opposite sex looked for money and prestige like he looked for volume in the chest area.

Mild interest sparked in Sandy's eyes. "You're from England?" She asked Castiel, who shot Dean an uneasy look. The hunter had always worked with people who knew how to lie, forgetting until the last minute that Cas had the deceitful intent of a boulder. In a panic, Dean had instructed him not to talk at all. 

_Oxford is in Britain? _Wondered Dean. _Shit. _

"No." Cas answered, thankfully having the sense not to try and tell her he was from Heaven. Even in the context of flirting, he doubted Sandy would be impressed.

"He's from California, but he had enough money to attend college overseas." Boasted Dean, quickly.

"That's cool." Said Sandy uninterestedly, and Dean realized right then that she must of been a lesbian. There was no other explanation for a woman rejecting both the King of the Hitting-Up-Women and his sexy-haired apprentice. Nuh-uh. "So what did you need?"

He opened his mouth to provide an improvised story, but was interrupted.

"We are looking into the history of violent deaths in this facility." Deadpanned Cas.

Dean had to stifle a groan. _Cas, why..._

"Uhh..." The receptionist looked a little nonplussed. "That's not really my division."

"Sorry, what my partner is trying to say is that he's doing a research project for a course, and part of it involves the history of this area. You don't happen to know any crimes that happened around here?" Dean tried to salvage what was left of the situation.

"I'd like to help you and your... parter, but I really don't know about any murders." Said Sandy, and there was something off in her tone. Something awkward. Something almost as if...

_Oh god. _Thought Dean_._

Because he'd played and FBI agent so often, it was easy to forget that historians don't have _partners, _not unless...

_Oh SHIT. _It all made sense now, her curtness, the way she ignored Dean's smiles and Cas's supposed prestige. It wasn't that she was a lesbian. _She thinks we're gay. _Thought Dean, with a sinking feeling, and she was talking again before he could defend himself. "You don't happen to be the gentlemen staying in room sixty-four do you?"

When there was no response, Cas glanced over at his friend and saw that Dean appeared to be suffering from a migraine. "That is correct." He replied, helpfully.

"Listen, I don't meant to be rude, but I got reports of some sounds from your room disturbing other guests last night. We don't discriminate against whatever... activities you wish to engage in while staying here, but it is policy I ask you to keep it down." Said the woman.

If a hole opened in the ground right then and a hellhound dragged Dean back to the Pit, he would be grateful. Might even pat it's head and and toss it a biscuit. Cas on the other hand was completely oblivious to her implications. Instead, a defensive look developed on his features. "Dean was not in control of his actions." He argued firmly.

"Um... okay?" Replied Sandy, uncertainly.

_Right. I'm done. _The hunter thought. "Thank you for your time. Come on Cas."

"But-"

"Come _on _Cas." Dean grabbed the other man's arm and yanked him away, dragging him down the hall.

"We did not obtain sufficient information." Complained Castiel as his companion struggled with the lock to their room.

"Yeah, well, we're not gonna get it from her." Informed Dean, brusquely.

"You are embarrassed." Cas observed.

"Yeah, you could say that." Huffed the hunter, opening the door and shepherding his roommate inside.

"Why?"

The door closed perhaps a little harder than necessary. "Well for one, that was a complete failure. We're back to ground zero."

"That is true."

"And then there's the fact that _she thinks we're gay."_

"She what?"

He sighed, not having the heart to be annoyed at Cas's obliviousness. "Last night. She thought that was us... sleeping together."

"As in..."

"Yeah."

Cas's face underwent a variety of changes, ranging from a sheepishness of his own to a blank stare. "This makes you embarrassed." He surmised, finally.

"Well... yeah." Something about the expression Castiel had settled on made him feel guilty, which didn't make any sense. He had every damn right to feel weird about this situation.

"But you are aware of the truth. Why should it be of any importance how that woman interprets the incident?"

"It's just weird." Sulked Dean.

Cas tilted his head, trying to discern the reason for his friend's annoyance. Winchesters were not usually self-conscious about the world's opinion, laughing at their legal statuses as blood-thirsty psychopaths. "Ah," He said finally. "You fear your inflated sense of masculinity has been compromised by the insinuation that you are homosexual."

"What? No!" Defended Dean, vehemently. "I do not have a... hey fuck you Cas!"

Castiel's lips twitched upwards at the hunter's denial.

"But no, that's not it. It's just sort of disturbing. I mean I- the ghost, whatever, was trying to kill you. And all these people think it was just us screwing around." Complained Dean. "Freaking general public. Sometimes they really piss me off."

"Humanity has it's faults." Cas acquiesced.

A huff. "You can say that again."

"Humanity has-"

"Shut up."

_A/N: *obligatory awkward mistaken-as-gay scene* Plot'll step up next chapter. I think once I get past there I'll be able to write fast again. Again, so sorry about this, and your support means more than I can convey. _

_I threw in a Sherlock reference- none of you happened to get that did you? _


	15. Chapter 15

A/N: This is the part where I say "HONEY I'M HOME" and you say "and what time do you call this?" and I say "uh... updating time?" and you say "You're a week late Otex. A WEEK FUCKING LATE. WHAT IF YOU'D GOTTEN KILLED? WHAT IF YOU NEVER UPDATED AGAIN?!"

Sorry lovelies.

And on that subject, I have bad news. I kid about my lack of performance at school but it's a serious problem... my parents expect straight As with a few Bs. Due to school missed for the funeral and my own miserable laziness, I'm failing or getting Cs in the majority of classes right now, and have but two weeks to get them up. I wouldn't put real life first unless it got serious, and it has. I can't guarantee that I will update this regularly for the new few weeks until summer break. I need to focus on my grades. I'm sorry, and I hope you understand. But I swear on my internet connection that I won't be gone for more than a month, and I will be able to update more than ever once I get over this period. (unless my parents ship me off to military school, which may happen unless I work super hard on school)

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_Slam. _The lid to the laptop came smacking down with a force that Sam, if alive, would of criticized. But Sam was in Hell, and Cas had yet to concern himself with the finer complexities of technology.

So Dean could risk a cracked screen all he liked.

"There's nothing." He grumbled. "Literally _nothing_."

"Not a single violent death recorded in this area?" Asked Castiel, not looking up from his book.

"Oh there's plenty of violent deaths. Just zip in this motel, and nothing relevant in the rest of the county. I don't understand, man slitting his wife's throat? Shouldn't this kind of thing be documented?"

"If she was fleeing him by staying here, she might of done something to attract public scorn. Like adultery. The community may have turned a blind eye to the event."

Dean nodded. "True, but there's another thing. If he slit her throat, why are both their ghosts haunting this place? How'd he die?"

The both sat contemplating this.

"Perhaps once the anger died, the guilt drove him to kill himself."

"Maybe..." he hunter didn't sound so convinced.

"I don't think he would of been that guilty though. The way he thought about her... like she was less than human. It's creepy."

He continued to scroll through useless police records for twenty minutes. Accounts of infidelity, spousal murder, and slit throats were in abundance, making research long and grueling.

"Jesus Christ..." He muttered. "The number of dudes that found razor blades were the solution to their failing marriages. Haven't they heard of counseling?"

A noncommittal hum came from across the room.

"And this is just in one county too!" He continued, perturbed at the lack of response. "Between all of them, Ohio probably has a whole platoon of dead wife ghosts. How are we supposed to find just one?"

"Have you tried specifying the name of this inn in your searching?" Asked Cas, eyes not leaving the paperback.

"Of course I've tried that! That and every- ah FUCK!"

Castiel finally looked up. "Dean?"

"Stupid friggin' pop-up ad, it comes up every-time I reload this website. 'Do you want to join the Ohio Historical Society?'" Dean employed air quotes and a sarcastic drawl to convey his disgust. "Are you kidding me? I've had enough of Ohio in the present, why would I want to learn about it's goddam past?"

"It is becoming clear to me why Sam did research." Commented Cas, wryly. He was wary about bringing up the younger Winchester, partially regretting his words once they were spoken.

But Dean didn't seem to mind, snorting at the remark.

"Okay, so scrolling through 50 pages of de girls makes me a little antsy. Shoot me."

Cas just picked back up his book.

Bored with his fruitless efforts, Dean diverted his attention to his roommate. "Watcha readin' anyways?"

"Paradis Lost." Replied Cas, and scribbling something down among the pages."

"Like the band?"

"The novel. You haven't heard of it?"

"Not much of a book person. And since when did you become such a pop culture expert?"

"I possess more knowledge of culture than can be documented on paper, Dean. It simply isn't focused on one half of the twenty-first century like yours. Paradise Lost is considered one of the greatest literary works of all time."

Dean shrugged. "Never heard of it. When was it made?"

"The late sixties."

"Dude, that's like fifty years ago! Why are you reading that?"

"I meant sixteen sixties."

The hunter shook his head with a snort. "Of course. You finally decide to read up on the arts and you decide to start with the freaking Dark Ages. Typical."

"The seventeenth century is more in the Renaissance period, actually."

Dean raised his eyebrows and blinked slowly in a _'Seriously?' _expression until Cas was forced to look down uncomfortably. "Anyways what are you writing in that? Keeping a diary, Jamie Kelly?"

"I am making corrections."

"Excuse me?"

"The book is wrong. I'm fixing it." Cas informed him.

"Wait... so you just got done telling me how this book is God's gift to Earth, and now it needs fixing?"

"The fallacy is hardly the author's fault. In fact, I am impressed by how much this John Milton knew. Perhaps he was in correspondence with a Prophet. However, many of the details are wrong. Lucifer did not take with him one third of the angels during his descent to hell. The number are more accurate to-" The book was snatched from Cas's hands before he could finish his sentence.

"Give me that." Said Dean, examining the volume suspiciously. It was old but in neat condition, a picture of warring angels printed on the front. He opened it up and drew in a breath at the contents.

Stanzas of archaic, seventeenth-century English he hardly understood were printed on the pages, discussing Satan and Adam and Eve, as well as a lot of other capitalized names he didn't recognize. But it was Castiel's notes that caught his attention. Rows of flawless, block-like handwriting filled the page- in the margins, on the side, crammed in every available bit of space. Cas's penmanship looked almost like it had been made by a machine. He flipped through and found page after page of the writing, and drawings too- scientific diagrams and sketches. Most of it was English but every other sentence contained foreign characters that were no doubt Enochian.

"Dude..." He breathed. "You are obsessed."

Cas tilted his head. "Not so."

"What is this? A bible re-write?"

"It's a work of fiction regarding the events of man's fall from grace."

"Why do you care? Weren't you there anyways?"

"I was. It's simply interesting to see how your kind portrays it."

"And this...?" Dean gestured to some of the ex-angels' excessive writing.

"Corrections."

"You have too much time on your hands man."

"Agreed." Said Castiel mildly, and then seemed to hesitate before continuing. "To be frank, Jimmy's brain was only made to process to much at once. There is a possibility I'll lose much of my memory."

The hunter swallowed. He had considered the same thing, but tried not to think about it. "How do you know?"

"I don't. It is only a guess. But I am experiencing cranial pains when not anesthetized."

"But... can't you your noggin just adapt?"

"Yes, Dean. My... noggin might just adapt. But in the mean time, a corporeal account of my knowledge is reassuring. And as you said, I have too much time on my hands."

Dean nodded. "Okay, but where'd you get the book from? I don't exactly pack a library."

"It was given to me." Answered Cas, insouciantly.

"Huh?"

"I was withdrawing ice from that machine in the hallway, you were buying clothing. A woman approached and handed it to me."

"_What_?" Cried Dean.

"I said-"

"Did you know her?" There was, in Castiel's opinion, an unmerited amount of alarm in his tone.

"No."

"Then why would you just take something from a complete stranger? Are you insane? What did she look like?" The book was once again yanked from Cas's hands and examined- but this time out of worry rather than curiosity.

"I don't see why you're upset. She was an ordinary woman. I would be able to tell if she had sinister intent."

"You _would _Cas, you _would of _but not anymore!" Dean rifled through the pages and shook it as if expected razor blades to fall out. "You're human! She could of been a demon, or a witch, and you would of been completely clueless. Jesus... what if..." He trailed off. "Just don't do that again!"

"Do what? Attempt to expand my literary knowledge?" Sarcasm tinted Castiel's words ever so slightly. He knew this was just another part of the overprotective behavior Dean had developed, but it sparked a shred of annoyance none the less. The constants of humanity were stressful enough without having the other man rub them in his face.

"Accept things from weird ladies! Chicks man... they seem safe but you not believe how they'll screw you over." Balked the hunter, thinking back to Ruby (admittedly a demon, not a girl) and Bela Talbot (who didn't need the years in Hell to act infernal).

"You are being immensely paranoid Dean."

He was aware that his worry was perhaps unwarrantedly out of character, but then again, everything had been out of character for him lately. The lack of nomadism, the way he freaking doted over Cas like he was a kid with the flu. In Dean's life, injuries- albeit usually as bad as the ones his friend had sustained- were treated with a bottle of liquor and a pat on the back. The only exception was his little brother, and treating a warrior, his ally in the Apocalyptic war, with that kind of attention was damn weird. It should of filled him with nausea, but the only thought that did was the notion of Cas's ordeal and every discomfort- from agony to thirsty- that went along with it. He didn't know where this feeling came from, but it was driving him crazy, screwing with his brain. Like now. He shouldn't of cared who Castiel spoke to or not, much less where he got his books from, but he couldn't help the feeling. "Why would someone just give away a book? It's suspicious as Hell!"

"She told me that she didn't require it anymore, and that I looked like I might enjoy it. She was correct. I don't understand what harm you think an inaccurate history volume could possibly cause."

"Loads of stuff!" Exclaimed Dean. He was about to recite his long and well-thought list of reasons when he realized that he didn't have one. "Uh... there could be... anthrax. On the pages. I heard that killed a guy in New Jersey!"

Cas stared at him.

"Okay, fine, so maybe I'm being a little paranoid." Admit the hunter. "There could be people, things, after us. Just be careful."

Castiel had yet to swayed by Dean's paranoia, but decided it would be best to pander to it. Whatever stopped his friend from worrying. "I'll be warier."

"Good."

For the rest of the morning, Dean researched murders with no gain. It would of been easier to go straight to the police station as an FBI agent, where someone more familiar with the records could find the for him. But his fake badge was too riskily outdated at this point.

Castiel continued on in his book, editing the passages with steady focus. He'd spent much of the past week dozing, due either to the pills or how much blood and tissue he was regenerating. Dean would come in and out of the room, buying supplies or just driving. Sometimes he would occupy himself on the laptop, other times the two of them would talk. But Castiel was noticing that sleep didn't find him as easily lately. _Paradise Lost _was a distraction from what discomfort the painkillers couldn't numb- namely in his pried fingernails where the keratin was slow to grow back, and any pressure cast pain ricochetting through his nerves.

He had paused, lost in through about Raphael when an angry cry brought him back to attention.

"No, I don't want to join your historical society! Can't a guy look at dead chicks in peace?" Yelled Dean, having once again encountered the advertisement.

Cas walked over with a sigh and placed a mollifying hand on Dean's shoulder. He'd seen the action done once when a child had dropped her bowl of rice into the dirt and burst in hysterics. It had amazed Castiel what a simple touch from the mother had done to calm the girl. "I suggest you take a break. Clearly this is stressful for you."

"Stressful my ass, it's nothing I haven't done before. Every moment I'm twiddling my thumbs, you and whichever sorry sucker stays here next are getting closer to ending up like Anne Boleyn."

"Anne Boleyn was beheaded, not exsanguinated." Amended Cas, and then something caught his eye.

"Oh, so that's better for you? Right then. We'll just wheel in a guillotine and get it over with." He griped, but the other ignored him.

"Isn't that the establishment we're staying at?" Castiel was staring at the screen.

Dean looked and- _woah_- _Golden-Wheat Inn _was listed on the advertisement, right under the words: _DID YOU KNOW THESE COMMON SITES HAVE HISTORICAL SIGNIFICANCE? _

A thousand times exiting the ad, and he'd never noticed. "Oh my God. That is. That's where we're staying."

"But what historical significance could a motel possess?"

The hunter clicked on the ad, but it only lead to the Ohio Historical Society website. He opened up Google and typed "golden-acres inn ohio historical".

He clicked on the first link, a page on the inn's website, and widened his eyes.

'_It is a little-known fact that our inn was built around part of the Underground Rail_- _the Summers House. The land was purchased in 1946, and construction began in-' _the of the information was irrelevant, but what he'd learnt was shocking. He sat back in his chair with a puff of breath. _Well shit..._

"The Underground Railroad. Wasn't that a network of safe houses for fugitive slaves to rest at?" Apparently Castiel knew his American history.

"Yeah, and apparently we're standing on top of it."

Realization dawned of both of them.

"The woman... she was fleeing from a man." Said Cas, slowly. "Maybe the man was her enslaver."

"Ohio was a free state, slaves crossed over from Kentucky." Explained Dean, and then muttered: "Wow, I guess I went to school that day. It would explain why it didn't make the news. 'Slave Gets Abused'. Not exactly headline material at the time."

"But I don't understand, if she was his slave, why did he want to bed her?"

Only the severity of what they were discussing stopped Dean from bursting out in laughter. How were you supposed to explain sadism kinks to a trillion year old virgin? "Uh, sort of a power thing."

"What's the point of exerting dominance over someone if you consider them less than human?"

"Yeah, dehumanization, also a thing. Listen, don't ask me, I'm not into that kinky shit." He grimaced, aware that he shouldn't of been explaining rape in terms for consensual roleplay. "Listen don't ask me, I'm not into that kinky shit." Time to change the subject. "So let me get this straight. He was enslaving and probably raping her, she decided to split, he hunts her down, forces and kills her in this room. Somehow he ends up dead too."

"It's odd that no other patrons have been possessed." Observed Cas.

"Yeah. I'll be willing to bet that the remains are in this room."

"But where could two bodies of been concealed for one hundred and fifty years?"

Dean stood up and stomped on the ground. He listened for a second and then moved to another spot, stomping again.

Bewilderment was veritable in Castiel's features. "What are you doing?"

"Runaways hid themselves in little cupboards in the ground." Another stomp. "Trying to see if I can hear one."

The bewilderment changed to a spark of remembrance. "I heard footsteps. When I was possessed. They sounded like they were coming from above."

Dean paused in thought. "Wait, I remember something too.. I pushed over the bed because I wanted it out of the way. Wanted to get at something."

Two sets of eyes drifted towards the carpet, where Dean's bed was perched atop.

A stomp in that area left a hollow ringing sound.

"Bingo." The hunter cheered internally. "Gimme a hand."

The two of them managed to pick up the twin bed and move it out of the way, Dean making sure to bear most of the weight. Cas, even human, was a full grown man and could more than handle it. But the infernal mother hen side of Dean screamed that the man's wounds might re-open, that his head might start to ache (the newest addition to his plethora of solicitudes).

Either way the bed was transferred without incident, and then they started on the carpet. It rolled aside, inch by inch until...

Dean whistled lowly. "We got our Secret Annex."

A square of wood was separate from the rest of the floor, old and possessing a wrought-iron handle which Castiel pulled.

The first thing he noticed was how heavy the door way, creaking on ancient hinges. Then came the smell, the result of one hundred fifty years of mummification. It made him throw the door down the rest of the way and stumble back, coughing. Dean was too, and it took a minute of spluttering before they could approach the edge of the hide-away.

"Smell them roses Cas!" Enthused Dean, rubbing his hands together with anticipation. As annoying as it was to have Cas's recuperation interrupted by restless spirits, it had really been too long since he'd done this.

The contents of the hole looked about as grisly as they smelled. Two decrepit figures lay curled atop one another, eyes grayish and unseeing. They were partially preserved with brown, crumpled skin- one darker than the other- and some of the most horrific fingernails he had ever seen. It was hard to believe that the shriveled skeletons had ever been human.

Castiel noticed something in particular about the larger body on the bottom- the male. A distinct line spanned across his neck, and the space below was stained with blood. "It looks like the man bled to death. Shouldn't it be the opposite?"

No response.

Cas turned his head and saw Dean staring with a burning hatred in his eyes.

_Uh-oh._

He recognized that look.

It wasn't Dean making it. It was as slave-owner from the 19th-century, and one on the warpath.

Remembering the crowbar he had beside his bed, Cas slowly started to edge away.

But then he wasn't moving.

He wasn't even Castiel.

He was a woman, a fugitive, and she was terrified.

"So you thought could get away." Whispered her owner, in barely controlled anger.

The spirit in Cas stared at the ground. _I got so far._

"You thought I'd let you get away with this?" A threatening pace forwards. "You thought I'd give up what's mine?"

She was too petrified to move. She stayed silent, accepting, as they reenacted events that occurred more than a century ago. she didn't argue with his words, or duck the heavy blows. When the man picked up a knife- the closest thing he could find to a razor- Cas's eyes widened, but his mouth stayed shut.

However, when he pushed her onto the bed like he'd done so many times before at the plantation, the desperate terror hardened into a cold anger of her own. It was the same anger that had driven her to escape in the first place. The indignity of this _monster _treating her like an object, like a toy and a free laborer. Of enslaving her, and her parents, and parent's parents, to work until they died.

The man bit into her collarbone and that was it. Her cold anger combusted into fiery rage. Without warning she yanked free and grabbed the dagger from his hand, thrusting it into his arm with a feral scream.

An echoing cry ripped from Dean's throat and the woman didn't waste time in withdrawing the blade and struggling to get away. They fell onto the floor, wrestling viscously for the knife while blood from the slave owner's wound came gushing out. Cas's body was stronger than her natural female one, but it was her will to fight Dean- stronger than Cas's had ever been- which gave her a fighting chance. She clawed at his face with animalistic desperation, barely feeling the returning blows. She just needed to fight, to live,_ to fight, to live to fight, to-_

_CRUNCH!_

Neither of them had noticed they were approaching the edge of the excavation until they tumbled in. Dean's body landed first, atop the already present corpses. Cas's came tumbling next, his hand snagging on the door in the woman's attempts not to fall. But her efforts only made it close behind her, trapping both of them in dark, reeking, hole. There was a moment of inaction as the man lay stunned from the fall, Cas's weight having knocked the wind out of him. The slave pushed at the door, panicked at the lack of air and light. But it wouldn't budge, not designed to be easily opened from the inside, especially not by a panicked and cramped person running low on oxygen.

_I'm going to die here. _She realized, and through the crashing waves of despair, a single smile made it's way to the surface. Because she wasn't going to die alone. Or first.

The knife in Castiel's hands slide lightly against Dean's throat. A tease.

"You pig." She sobbed, tears starting to fall because he'd taken everything- her virginity, her dignity, her freedom. And now her life, although she'd gotten so close, _so close. _But she was a fighter, momma had always said so, and the tears dried alongside her lamenting. There was no place for pity here. Only wrath. "You'll die like a pig."

Un-glinting silver bit into cervical skin, and the woman tensed, ready to make the jerking pull that would end his life, when light suddenly flooded the chamber.

"Excuse me?" Coughed a very confused janitor, waving a hand in front of his nose to ward off the stench. He was a young immigrant, acne on his face and a European accent in his speech. "Sirs?"

And just like that, the ghosts left. Castiel and Dean gasped in unison as their bodies were suddenly unpossessed.

_I just tried to kill Dean. _Thought the former.

_I'm sitting on top of a mummified corpse. _Thought the latter.

"Get the salt." They ordered simultaneously.

"W-what?" The boy stuttered. He'd been going about his day, cleaning rooms, when some loud thumps and screams compelled him to unlock the door. All of his prayers had gone into hoping that it wasn't some particularly passionate lovemaking, but now he wished it had just been that. Embarrassment and maybe getting fired wouldn't of been nearly as bad as the _smell, _not to mention the two beat-up and scary looking men sitting five feet in the ground. He wondered if their order was some kind of English slang he hadn't learned yet, but their faces didn't seem joking at all, in fact-

_...oh mein Gott is that a knife?_

"The salt. It's in the bag on the table. Get it!" Growled the bigger man. He wasn't the one with the knife but his voice alone was terrifying. The boy took no pause in rushing over to the bag and searching through it hurriedly. By the time he found the salt, the two had crawled out and were marching dourly in his direction.

"Here!" He said shakily, handing the container of salt to the bigger man. Were they going to eat him? He'd heard tales of American cannibals back home.

"Lighter fluid, Cas." Was the only response he got besides a snatching of the salt from his hands.

"Dealt with." To his horror, the darker-haired man started pouring a chemical down into the hole. The other one joined him, shaking salt into the area. Then he took out a match.

"No!" Cried the boy, unable to watch them set fire to the building. If he survived, he'd surely be sacked.

They ignored him completely, seeming to sigh in relief as the contents of the hideaway burst into flames. This was too much for one janitor. Without waiting to be cooked, he ran from of the room, mop left lonesomely on the floor.

"Well, that was successful." Said Dean. Somewhere in the building, fire alarms went off.

"Quite." Answered Cas.

They stood companionably, watching the flames climb higher as screams started to echo down the corridors and fire sirens screamed.

"It was a shitty motel anyways." The hunter shrugged.

"For the record I voiced my opinion for Sunny Acres Bed-n-Breakfast."

"WHAT IS GOING ON?" Sandy, the desk lady, had arrived at the scene with a face that screamed both verbally and visually of hysteria. Fire sirens blared in the distance.

"Yeah, we totally should of gone there instead."

_A/N: I don't even know what this chapter is. I'm so tired that the thought of looking it over makes my eyes burn, so excuse whatever atrocities you find. I fear it may be extremely confusing and unenjoyable. At least it's long (the longest yet) so that's good? I don't Boyfriend. I just don't know. Hope to write to you all soon, not from military school. Hugs!_


	16. Chapter 16

A/N: Well, I managed to pull some last-minute, Winchester-style stunts and got my grades up. Which means no military school and more fic for you! :D I barely had time to do anything but study, but I did see the finale. I won't spoil it for anyone who hasn't but... holy shit. Holy. Shit. Come share your thoughts with me, I'd love to hear what you thought about it! Also I'm upset about the Tumblr-Yahoo transaction. I want to be accepting of change but I don't trust Yahoo one bit. They're money-hungry and don't care about aesthetics.

And thank you so much for the reviews! I've said this multiple times but I reread and treasure every single one, even if I don't respond. The only thing more enjoyable than reading fanfiction is knowing that people enjoy reading your fanfiction. Anyways, here, have some really-awkward-oh-god-I-feel-weird-posting-it-Dest iel beginnings!

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EDIT: Looking through this and holy shit does it have mistypes... I write this all at three in the morning, you guys should complain about them or I'll never notice.

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It was amazing what forty bucks could do. For Wilhelm it meant a week's salary, and a new pair of jeans for school. It meant a happy seven younger brothers, who he could treat to icecream for the first time. And all he had to do was tell a lie to his boss.

_"..._and then he escaped out that window, which is when you came in." Finished the cleaning boy. His boss started skeptically from him to the other two men in the room. Dean had been nodding encouragingly as Wilhelm recounted the fabrication he had been bribed into, Cas standing silently to the side.

The ex-angel wanted to step in and explain that they were in fact doing a favor in getting rid of the ghosts. But he was beginning to understand that until he improved his people skills, not talking at all was going to be necessary.

"So you're telling me," Sighed the manager, after an exasperated pause. "That a man broke into the premises through the... perfectly untouched window-"

"-it was already open!" Defended Dean.

"-beat these two gentlemen to the ground-"

"He was a giant. Seriously." Dean pointed to his clawed and battered face.

"-uncovered a historical artifact, and set it on fire before leaving the way he came?"

Wilhelm nodded earnestly. Lying was wrong, he knew, but for forty bucks he didn't care what the strange men wanted to light on fire. "I saw it with my own eyes."

"Uh-huh." The manager wasn't stupid. "Well unless we watch this... mysterious perpetrator, our company is going to face a lot of expenses from this."

"I imagine it would." Said Dean, mildly.

"But if someone were to be sympathetic to our damages, pursuit of this individual might not even be necessary."

"Is that so?"

"Meaning I might not even have to involve the police at all."

_Everyone is really on my dick about bribes today. _He thought, reaching for his wallet and pulling out another forty dollars.

"The expenses are going to be higher than that."

Dean groaned internally as he relinquished yet another twenty dollar bill.

To his relief this stated the money-hungry man. "Thanks for your sympathies. Now get the Hell out of my inn."

The last Wilhelm saw of the strange man and his scruffy friend was a conspiratorial wink and a mouthed '_Thanks, kid.'_

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

"Shouldn't you two be in like, a jail cell?" Asked Sally as she watched the couple who had caused her so much trouble walk towards the door.

"Nah. I'm too lovable." Shrugged the green-eyed one. "Oh and good news for you, you shouldn't have anymore weird reports from room 54."

"Well yeah, now that you two are leaving."

"You mean, you never had anything weird happen in there before?"

"It was a storage room. King of uncomfortable to screw in."

"Oh." Said the man. "Well that explains a lot."

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

"I'm assuming your finances are utterly depleted by now." Started Cas, as they finally crossed the border out of Ohio. The statement broke an extended silence.

"Seventeen bucks." Was the answer.

"That is... very little for two people to subsist off, yes?" It was hard to keep track of the value of every currency for every culture in every century in every state of inflation, but he'd spent enough time in 21st to know that much.

"Not at all! That's plenty of money!" Protested Dean, not wanting him to worry. But he couldn't blatantly lie. "For a third world country, I guess."

"How do you intend to get more?"

"The way I always do. Poker and credit card scams. Which is awesome, because we're going to Vegas."

"Where?"

"Las Vegas? Like, 'Rain Man' Las Vegas?"

"Oh. You're referring to the city in Nevada."

"Yeah. Gambling galore, and home to some of the greatest strippers in the country. If you want to get rich quick, Vegas is the place to go." Dean decided not to mention how easy it was to end up broke addicted to alcohol there too. "It just so happens to be where I think Azzy's demons are hiding."

"Why do you think this?"

"There was a report of sulfur. A lot of sulfur. Like, seventy two demons worth of sulfur appearing in a field around there. They're calling it a 'geological anomaly', but I don't think it has much to do with maps."

"Rocks."

"Huh?"

"Geology has to do with rocks. You're thinking of geography."

"Thanks, Professor." Snorted Dean, and reached for the radio to continue Cas's musical tuition.

Dean was in a particularly good mood, blasting old tunes and singing along disharmoniously. He was happy to be finally going somewhere, to be out of that godforsaken state and away from nosy hotel staff. The feel of smooth leather and the rumbling motor beneath him were a relief.

"Sweet child o' mine...!" He crooned with the music, elbowing Cas as if wanting him to join in. Cas looked at him slowly and blankly, and Dean groaned. "Come on man, you love Guns n' Roses!"

"You seem to think me an impressionable child onto whom you can reflect all your opinions." Cas's voice was dry but not without humor.

"Well, you sort of are, without the wings."

Music had never been particularly engaging for Castiel. His interest in it had always been a passive and clinical appreciation. It was almost the same with Dean's screaming rockstars. He recognized the chords, comprehended the lyrics in only stiff acknowledgement. But while he didn't appreciate them in an involved sense, the songs did make him _feel _something. Maybe it was the ferociously upbeat music, or more likely it was the hopefulness of being on the move, the familiar smell of the Impala and seeing Dean happy. In how the sun glinted off his smile as he sang, and highlighted his sandy-brown hair. Either way, a warm and belonging feeling filled his sternum with each strum of the guitar. Dean's happiness was contagious.

They drove for the remainder of the day like that, listening in silent contentment to the hunter's tape collection. It was pleasant, but eventually an ache began to build in Castiel's head.

By sunset, he decided to ask Dean for some of the numbing medicine he'd grown fond of. However, his request was met by uncomfortable silence. When he looked over, Dean was biting at his lip.

"About that Cas..." Dean was staring ahead at the road, lips drawn in a tight line. Cas waited for him to continue with interested anticipation. There had never been any hesitation in dispensing the pills before. "I was thinking you should take it easy with those."

"What... do you mean?"

"I just think it'd be better. That stuff is kind of addictive, and, I mean, do you really need them anymore?" Dean sounded quiet, almost cautious in his question.

A surge of panic ran inexplicably through Castiel. It was true, his injuries had healed some, but what Dean was suggesting was too alarming to even consider. "No!" He exclaimed, before he even had time to ask himself why.

Dean looked a little startled. "So... you don't...?"

"No... I... I mean that I do. I need them." He affirmed, and maybe it was because of the reluctance he could sense coming off Dean or maybe it was pure compulsion, but right then Castiel did something he hadn't done since falling under his friend's care. He lied to him. "I'm still in great pain. My head aches, which makes it difficult to concentrate. I don't think I can function without them. Please."

The reluctance in Dean's eye immediately turned to concern and then contrition. "Yeah... yeah, of course." He got out the bottle and handed it to Cas.

The man took them with great relief, but the feeling that he'd betrayed Dean was greater. He did have a headache, but it was already less than it had been during the previous days. He suspected his mind was adapting, and it had never been unbearable in the first place. Dean was right that he didn't need the painkillers, but he refused to think about it. Instead he thought about the human agony, and his helplessness to stop it from a week before. How desolate and even snappy towards the hunter it had made him. He couldn't go back to that, couldn't go back to being weak.

Besides, it wasn't like he hadn't lied to Dean in past. But that was before, when he'd been under Heaven's command, and it was usually for the greater good or the good of the hunter himself. The playing field had changed now. He depended on Dean- as a convalescent, as a clueless human, and as a friend. His fib was for no one's gain but his own, and it was a manipulation of the self-condemnation that the hunter had been displaying.

_I deserve to be flogged. _Thought Castiel, seriously. But already he could feel the sweet numbness of the pills. And wasn't there something that Dean had told him once? Yes, he remembered clearly:

_"When humans want something really, really bad... they lie." _

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Around three o clock in the morning, Dean pulled over to a remote area. He was asleep as soon as his keys left the ignition, but they were on the road again in less than four hours.

"You know that look isn't going to stop me." Said Dean. He blinked as rising sun-rays pierced the windshield.

From the passenger seat, Castiel only continued to glare.

"I've done stupider things."

More glaring.

"Oh come on! Stop mothering me."

_Well that is hypocritical. _Thought Castiel, but didn't think he needed to comment on it. Not when there were so many other things he could criticize right now. "It will benefit me as much as it benefits you if this vehicle doesn't crash into a tree."

"I'm not going to crash!" Protested Dean.

"You've had three hours of sleep, you motor skills are almost certainly impaired."

"It was more than that, and I'll have you know my skills are fine! I wouldn't of lasted this long if I fell asleep at the wheel every time I was a bit cashed."

Castiel glowered. "I don't understand your continued insistence on self-destruction. If you're tired, you should sleep."

"What about me doesn't strike you as perfectly fine?" Asked Dean, gesturing to himself as if presenting a work of art.

It wasn't like Cas had ever needed an invitation to stare, and he did so, looking the hunter up and down with bored eyes. "Your hands quiver slightly, your reaction time is slow, and there are dark rings beneath your eyes- the left one of which twitches periodically. Your actions are lethargic and clumsy and you slur certain consonants together."

Dean squirmed, feeling like a germ beneath a microscope, and exhaled angrily before he next spoke. "Look Cas, remember the whole seventeen bucks thing? It's not actually a lot. Not actually anything besides a few tanks of gas. So once we run out of the food I bought, we can look forward to a lot of Ramen noodle packages. Which," said Dean, as Castiel opened his mouth in question, "Is not a good thing."

"How does this relate to your sleep?"

"The faster we get there, the less dollar store meals. Sleep comes after financial stability. Got it?"

Castiel's lips drew in a tight line as he considered arguing further. But it wasn't his terrain to argue on- after all, he'd never experienced the apparent misfortune of Ramen noodles. So he simply dipped his head and capitulated with a: "Yes, I... get it."

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

"Could you turn down the heater?"

"Huh?" Dean turned, sure he'd misheard. He'd kept the heat up as far as it went when they drove, but it had done little to abate Cas's shivering. The man never complained, but it drove Dean crazy to see him huddled in the leather jacket and still shaking.

"I asked if you could lower the heat." Stated Castiel, calmly.

"But...?"

"It's hot in here."

Dean glanced at the other's hands. No tremors. It took a moment for the implications of this to sink in. "Yeah." A smile bloomed on his face. "Yeah."

With the flick of a switch, the atmosphere of the Impala began to resemble more the Sahara desert than the interior of Mount Vesuvius.

Slowly, Castiel was getting better.

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The drive took a couple of days, during which time Castiel learned that overeating was not the only cause of vomiting. He'd ignored Dean's warnings against reading in the car, and fifteen minutes later was throwing up the morning's meager breakfast on a curb somewhere in Colorado. Dean laughed.

The Impala was zooming through the desert highway, blasting 'Hotel California' when the first glimpse of Las Vegas became visible in the distance. Castiel mistook it at first to be the rising sun, but the clock read eleven.

"See that glow?" Chirped Dean excitedly, as the lights grew closer. "That's dreams being made!"

"No, that's neon lighting fixtures." Corrected Castiel, staring out the window. "I don't like them."

"How come?"

"They block the stars." He said simply, and they drove on.

By the time they arrived, both showers and food were desperately needed.

"Yeah, uh-huh. You heard me right. Two cheeseburgers, an apple pie, four bags of chips- two barbecue the rest plain- a tub of chocolate chip cookies, and a pizza." Dean was sprawled out on the couch of the newly-rented hotel room, covering three quarters of the fine fabric and bullying room service. Cas sat stiffly on the last quarter, looking around the room. It was nice, much nicer than where they'd stayed before. The walls were a grand red, the floors made from pricey mahogany. Instead of twins, two four poster-beds were set for them to sleep on.

"What do you mean, you don't have burgers?" Cried Dean. "Well go get some them. Oh, and uh... milkshakes. Two milkshakes. Chocolate." He hung up and tossed the phone carelessly across the rom. "What kind of room service doesn't serve cheeseburgers?"

Castiel ignored the question. "This room is very aesthetically pleasing."

"Yeah, a step up from the usual ratholes." Agreed the other, stretching.

"It looks expensive."

"Oh it was." He chuckled. "Sleeping in a bus-stop wouldn't be cheap here. This place costs a fortune."

"Yes, and to my understanding you only have seventeen dollars in your possession?"

"Actually, five. You wouldn't believe gas prices these days." There was a knock at the door, and Dean went to collect the results of his eccentric spending. The stack of food he carried obscured his head.

"But... you could afford all this with five dollars?" Castiel adopted a perplexed expression, thinking perhaps his knowledge of American currency was more outdated than he'd suspected.

A chuckle. "Of course not. More like five hundred. I'm paying on a tab." Dean placed down the stack.

"What does that mean?"

Cas was handed a milkshake. "It means we better play some good poker tomorrow."

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Castiel was staring out the window, listening to the steady sound of Dean's shower and examining the impressive view of Las Vegas. Everywhere people, cars, and lights swirled in a cacophony of motion. True, no stars twinkled down on the city. But in a way, this allowed the life itself to shine.

The thought had Castiel in a sentimentally good mood by the time the door to the bathroom clicked open. He swiveled his head, and that's when things changed.

What exactly caused it was unclear to him. He'd seen Dean in the nude before. The man had an undeniably beautiful combination of traits, coming from a long line of the strongest and worthiest to be vessels. Castiel had often looked upon him with detached appreciation.

But a glance in Dean's direction now stirred something keener.

It was in the body perhaps. How little droplets of water trickled and gathered at his joints, glittering in the fancy lights. How the summer-tanned muscles flexed as he adjusted the towel around his waist.

Or more likely the face. The shadowed olive eyes and plush lips, the sculptedness of his features and golden dusting of freckles.

Castiel had always thought Dean beautiful, but what he saw now he didn't even have a word for.

His mouth went dry as his stomach did a sharp tug. He thought it might of been indigestion, but it wasn't painful. In fact, the tingling thrill it left was anything but. His stomach continued to knot peculiarly as he felt short-breathed and dry-mouthed, dizzy but strangely alert. And something else, something below the belt that he found he did have a word for.

It wasn't a word he'd thought much about, especially in regards to himself, but he knew the signs well enough.

_Arousal. _Thought Cas, with horror. _I'm aroused._


	17. Chapter 17

A/N: My excuse? I watched all of Teen Wolf. And then I started watching all of Star Trek. However, no matter how many deep-space adventures I witness, I cannot purge thoughts of this story. I daydream about it constantly, even if my writing rate is slow. It appears I'm stuck finishing this thing, even if it runs me into the ground!

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Cas was doing his staring thing when Dean got out of the shower.

This should of upset him more, but by now he'd come to accept the behavior as an irreparable part of the man's personality.

No, it wasn't the staring that disturbed him.

It was the look on Castiel's face.

"Cas?" At his name the man looked up hurriedly, and yes, there was that look. The look of someone who has just been diagnosed with a terminal illness. "You okay?"

If 'uncomfortable' was a rainstorm, then there was a typhoon in Castiel's features. A flush ran from his cheeks to his neck. His eyes met Dean's before skittering away. "Y...yes."

"You look like you just ran over a puppy."

"I amn't!" Said Castiel, sharply. "I mean... I didn't."

Dean raised his eyebrows. "Oo-kay." Clearly something was upsetting him, but if he didn't want to talk, Dean wasn't going to push. He could, however, offer a distraction from whatever was grieving him. "Tell you what, I'm gonna throw on some clothes, you meet me in the Impala."

He tossed Cas the keys from where they'd been lying. The former angel caught them with a look of surprise. It wasn't every day you were given the keys to Dean's baby. "But where are we going?"

"To debauch your clean little soul."

"Another brothel?" Castiel seemed even more alarmed than Dean would expect at the thought. The guy was really in an edgy mood.

"Nah, we got lust down. Let's move onto a different sin."

Cas perked up. "Wrath?"

"Greed."

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

It was easy to forget how utterly enormousLas Vegas was. The lights, the sounds, the fountains- it was both overwhelming and exhilarating. The Impala fit the crowded streets perfectly, sleek black exterior reflecting the glare of casino signs. Cas still seemed upset, only nodding without looking at Dean as he explained the rules of various games. But he had no doubt the man's mood would improve once he discovered the joys of getting rich quick.

"So you remember everything I said about hustling?" Asked Dean, pulling his car into the parking lot of a smaller casino. It would be lacking in both an entry fee and elaborate security- making it easier to cheat.

"Disguise your talents so your competitor underestimates you, and places higher bets in their own favor." Recited Castiel.

"Exactly." Said Dean, glad Cas was at least responding to him. He started walking across the parking lot, the other catching up hurriedly.

"But Dean, is that not dishonest?"

Dean looked over at Cas incredulously, blinking twice. "That's the _point._"

"These people came here for fair sport, we should respect that."

Dean scoffed. "These people came here to take each other's money. All we're doing is beating them at it. Besides, look at their fancy suits. They have plenty to lose."

It was true, walking into the building had him feeling somewhat outclassed. The patrons were dressed lavishly, even in a small establishment like this one. Cas and Dean on the other hand wore the usual jeans, and in the former's case, leather jacket.

"Very well." Surrendered Castiel.

Dean went immediately to the pool table, most familiar with this game. He played straight, relying on his talent to earn twenty bucks. Cas watched intently, absorbing the mechanics of the casino games while Dean whooped with boyish excitement.

"You wanna give it a try?" Offered the hunter, parading over to Cas and presenting a pool cue.

He took it uncertainly. "Do you think it's a wise idea?"

"Of course. Give me your game face."

Castiel stared blankly at Dean, meeting his eye for the first time that night.

"No, you're too confident-looking! You have to pretend you don't know what you're doing. They'll bet higher, and that's when you hit 'em!"

"But I really don't know what I'm doing." Pointed out Cas, examining the stick with a quizzical frown.

"That's why I'm teaching you! Give me that." Dean took the stick from his hand and turned it right-side-up. "You can't play with your cue backwards."

"Are you sure?" Questioned Castiel as he was steered towards the pool table.

"You'll do fine." Coaxed Dean.

Five minutes and twenty lost dollars later, it became clear that Castiel in fact was not fine.

"I'm sorry, Dean." Said Cas, relinquishing the pool cue. He'd hit the balls too hard, sending them flying off the table and into the backs of other patrons. Dean found the money he'd won parted from him all too soon.

"Nah, it's okay. It was just twenty dollars. We have the whole night to earn it back." Dismissed Dean with a wave of his hand. He was in too of high spirits to let this daunt him. "I didn't explain how it's done well enough. Maybe you should watch me play some more and give it another try. You gotta be gentle, sorta nudge the ball in the right direction. It's not football."

The hunter proceeded to recite a lifetime of techniques he'd picked up, but Castiel was staring elsewhere.

"What's that?" He pointed, interrupting Dean's lecture.

"Huh?" Dean looked and saw a large target at which darts were being thrown. "Oh. Wow. Never seen one of those in a place like this."

"Is it like pool? Can you make money from it?"

He peered over to the spot and saw that a ring of men were standing around it, betting on who could hit closest to the center of the target. "Yeah, looks like it. Why, it tickle your fancy?"

"I want to try." Answered Cas, staring at it seriously.

"Oh. Are you sure? We don't have any cash, so if you don't make it we'll have to ditch th-"

"Give me a dart."

And so Dean found himself holding his breath as the former angel stared summatively at the target, dart held delicately in his fingers. He'd bet fifty dollars that Cas could beat the other men's attempts at hitting the center. He knew Castiel, angel of the Lord, could make any shot with flying colors. But this was human Castiel, who got carsick from reading and who for a week shook uncontrollably.

This human Cas now narrowed his eyes in a calculating way that made Dean's stomach do an inexplicable little flip, and then with a flick of his hand the dart was flying at break-neck speed into the center of the target.

Dean had to lift his jaw from where it'd dropped to let out a long whistle. The other players were making similar expressions of shock, except the one who'd betted against Cas. He just looked biter as he handed over fifty dollars.

"Well damn. What a lucky shot!" Exclaimed Dean loudly. There were murmurs of agreement.

When Castiel turned around and gave him a look, Dean pulled him aside.

"How'd you do that?" He whispered.

"It wasn't a lucky shot. Aim is a learned skill. I haven't forgotten anything."

Dean remembered the chronic headaches and was happy to hear that they hadn't resulted in any memory loss. "Well that's amazing. But don't let them know that." He gestured to the men still staring disbelievingly at the bulls-eye shot. "They'll stop betting against you."

The next throw Castiel made was strategically astray, but his face gave away his motives by displaying no surprise or disappointment. It was obvious the shot was purposefully bad, and the ring of gamblers refused to place any more bets.

But Cas's expressionless face had already given Dean another idea. He nudged the other man and began leading him towards a different part of the building.

"I don't think it will be lucrative for me to try any more of these games." Said Cas, dejected from not being able to earn much even while finding something he was good at. The complex lying and masks involved in Dean's money-making were not to his taste.

"No way, I know one you'll kick ass at." Dean stopped before a long row of chips-and-card-scattered tables. "What do you know about poker?"

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

"We're rich!" Shouted Dean, and started giggling hysterically for what seemed like the tenth time that night. "Rich!"

People entering the casino glared at the two men exiting.

"Cas, I gotta tell you man, I always knew you had a poker face..." More giggling. "But... but I never expected _that_. You were like a poker... a poker machine!"

"I don't think you should of accepted so many martinis." Reprimanded Castiel, but there was a smile behind the words. The night had passed in a blur of poker chips and scantily-clad women offering drinks.

It turned out Cas was really, really good at poker. Better than Dean- who wasn't too shabby himself- had ever been, and he'd learnt the rules in a matter of minutes. As the chips the two of them won started to pile up, so did the good moods. And in Dean's case, the drinks. Not enough that he couldn't drive, but the tipsiness was apparent in each step towards the Impala. He hadn't seen Cas accept any alcohol, but nevertheless, the former angel was noticeably jubilant. Whatever grievance ailed him before seemed to have been forgotten.

"Why not? I deserve to celebrate! We're going to be living like kings!" Dean whooped, and had to stiffle the odd compulsion to reach over and ruffle Cas's hair. He wasn't that drunk.

The festive mood continued into the car ride home, Dean playing 'Money Made' and singing ridiculously as he drove. He expected Castiel to be nervous about being driven by a near-drunkard, but when Dean turned around he saw that the former angel wasn't. In fact, he was just staring with an expression on his face that made Dean stop hollering mid-lyic.

It was pure, unadulterated... something, as if him lip-synching AC/DC was the most inspiring thing he'd ever seen. It was awkward, unfiltered, and intense, making Dean want to squirm or run. But all he could do was stare back. His stomach flipped uncomfortably for the second time that night as their eyes met and held. Then Cas seemed to come to his senses and look down posthaste.

_What the hell._ Thought Dean. Nothing about that was normal. How Cas had been staring, how he himself had reacted, and most of all the fact that Cas noticed his own awkwardness. Even looked away, contrary to his usual obliviousness. That definitely wasn't standard nerd-angel behavior.

Dean cleared his throat and took his eyes back to the road, no longer singing along. The celebratory atmosphere had become stifling, the joyfully blaring rock music just blaring. The companionable silence that pervaded between them shifted into something uncomfortable. Neither were willing to acknowledge the look that had passed. Dean did with the event what he did with all feelings he didn't like- ignored it completely. And if Dean-Castiel's navigator in the world of human complexities- didn't address it, then there was no way he would.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Castiel was beginning to develop a new respect for Dean Winchester. It had always been clear that the man repressed himself- from the memories of Hell to grief over his lost father. As an angel he had passively noted this, and as a friend he'd quietly disapproved. But he'd never realized how hardit was.

Feelings popped up unbidden when he least expected, ambushing him like birds of prey. He'd decided shortly after discovering his attraction towards Dean that the urges were both confused and inappropriate. The man was his charge, friend, and caretaker- all things that shouldn't illicit these feelings. He didn't understand them, where they'd come from, what they meant. He'd spent most of the night struggling to repress them, unable to even look in Dean's direction without triggering a complicated mix of dread and intoxication. The fun of poker had let him mostly forget, until he'd stupidly slipped. It had been such a little thing, but such a _Dean _thing, him tipsy and happy and shamelessly singing. Castiel didn't even realize he was staring until Dean was staring confusedly back.

He was determined not to let something like that happen again.

But it was hard.

Especially now.

Cas had just gotten dressed after a shower and push-up session when Dean came up to him and started insisting he learn how to shave.

"Come on dude, it's hardly even stubble anymore, you're going to start growing a beard!" Dean extended the razor farther, trying to get Castiel to accept it.

It was true, in his two weeks on Earth Cas hadn't bothered shaving. It seemed like a delicate and painful process. "I don't see why that is a problem."

"It's not, if you're going for the homeless look." Quipped Dean. "Look, I got some fake IDs in order, we're going to interview the Nevada Geology Council about all the sulfur they found. It might help us track down your grace, but they're not going to take you seriously if you look like a hobo. Professionalism and all that."

At the mention of his grace, Castiel finally took the razor. "You're sure this won't cut my face?" He'd seen it used with no ill effects, but his past experiences with sharp objects in his face had been unpleasant.

Dean scoffed and beckoned for Cas to follow him into the spacious bathroom of the hotel room. "Here." The hunter took the razor back and set a stream of warm water flowing from the sink. "Watch." He doused his face with the liquid and spread a small amount of shaving cream across his cheeks and chin.

Castiel's eyes glued to the sight of the blade dragging slowly down Dean's face, leaving a path of smooth skin in it's wake. He worked across each cheek in long, leisurely movements. It was hypnotizing.

"Be careful around the chin." Instructed Dean, startling Castiel.

He realized with shame that he'd been staring as he had the previous night. He'd never seen the fault in looking at people- it allowed him to read their expressions easier so he could interpret the meaning behind their words. And eye to eye contact was sometimes more effective than stumbling over double-meanings and social pit falls. But with both the general public and Dean, he'd noticed a degree of uncomfortableness caused by this.

_Maybe this is why. _He thought, as Dean began to move the razor over the soft jut of his chin. Maybe it was because of how he kept catching himself looking at the man now. It wasn't an innocent, perplexed gaze. It was full of lust and a passionate affection he realized had been underlying for a long time. Maybe when humans stared at each other it was usually with these feelings, and they assumed this of Castiel. _No wonder._

Dean finished shaving and raised his chin proudly. "See? No cuts. Just smooth, non-homelessness." He ran a hand over his face to demonstrate, handing the razor back over. "You try."

Cas repeated Dean's actions, applying warm water and some of the white foamy substance, then taking the blade and driving it firmly down his left cheek. It was effective but hurt, the skin left behind red and agitated.

"No, you're pushing too hard, take it easy." Dean corrected, watching him like a teacher looking out for cheaters on a test. Cas tried again, this time pressing down lightly. Too lightly, as it turned out, only flattening the hairs to his face. "Not _that_ easy, and you have it at the wrong angle... here."

Cas's breath hitched as Dean took the razor again moved closer, drawing a line through the shorter man's stubble and staring concentratedly at the mirror so he could see where to shave. Clean, bare skin was left behind. "See?" He repeated the action, tilting the blade so is cut cleanly. The brush of cold metal to his cheek sent shivers skittering down Castiel's spine. His pulse hastened and his mouth went dry.

"You're like a friggin baby. Got to do everything for you." Teased Dean, raising a hand to steady Cas's head while he shaved with the other. Castiel didn't trust his voice enough to respond. The only sounds in the room were the brisk sliding of metal over skin and what Cas swore was his own pounding heartbeat.

Dean stepped so he was directly behind him once he got to his chin, shaving in small, precise strokes. There was now virtually no space between them, and Cas stiffened. Dean's head tilted forward in concentration, breath tickling his ear.

_This isn't fair._ He thought. It was hard enough trying to quell these new feelings just being in the same room as Dean. Now with the hunter's chest pressed against his back, Cas felt panicked and trapped. He was stuck, the telltale signs of excitement surfacing with each movement Dean made. He didn't want or understand them. There wasn't anything sexual about being taught how to shave. And yet to his desperate frustration, he could feel blood rush distinctly downwards when the hunter shifted slightly behind him.

"Lift up your head, I can't see." Came the complaint, along with a halt in ministrations. Castiel was reluctant to comply, afraid of meeting the other's eyes. He didn't think he'd be able to deal with the soulful green. Not now. But comply he did, raising his head from where it'd been angled at the ground and facing his reflection.

He was surprised at how heavily he was blushing- either from shame or arousal. Maybe both.

Dean seemed to note this too. "Aw, don't be so embarrassed. I was kidding about the baby thing, you're more like a teenager." Cas wasn't sure if this was supposed to assuage him. "Every guy has to learn how to shave sooner or later. You're just a late bloomer. Like, thirteen billion years late, but that's okay."

"Give it another try." The razor was placed in Castiel's hand. He lifted it up uncertainly, not trusting his movements and began to mimic Dean's actions on the other side of his face. Much to his relief, Dean backed off a few steps, allowing him to complete the task without worrying he was going to faint.

Castiel left the bathroom that morning clean-shaven, but feeling less clean internally than he ever had.


End file.
